
Book. .yjo 






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GOOD-HUMOR 



FOR 



Reading and Recitation 



Compiled by 
HENRY FIRTH WOOD 



/c 



Philadelphia ^lth''lj 
The Penn Publishing Company 
1893 



w '^ 






Copyright 1893 by The Penn Publishing Company 



PREFACE 



The title of this volume accurately and faithfully 
describes the character of its contents. It is believed 
to be " good humor," and the rendition of the selec- 
tions is calculated to put the audience in an equally 
" good-humor." 

The compiler has had many years of practical ex- 
perience as a talker and reciter, and feels that this, 
the latest collection of the kind, will be welcomed 
by readers and its contents enjoyed by all who appre- 
ciate the lighter vein of literature. 

Most of the material finds its first appearance in 
this volume, while several of the selections are origi- 
nal with the compiler. Grateful acknowledgment is 
here made to the numerous publishers, authors, and 
friends who have kindly contributed to its contents, 
and thus greatly facilitated the work. 

Henry Firth Wood. 
July, 1893. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Aboriginal Chant, An 129 

About Our Folks Henry Firth Wood 169 

All Sorts 167 

Biddy's Troubles 13 

Bill Max Adeler 95 

Billy's Santa Claus Experience Cornelia Redmond 123 

Billy the Bilk : or, The Bandits of the 

Bowery Capt. Maine Read, Jr 42 

Bitter Cry of the Outcast Choir Boy, The . JLonrfon FMnc/i 12 

Bob Johnston's Visit to the Circus .... Andrew Stewart 150 

Bridge, The (Brooklyn) Henry Firth Wood 126 

Butcher's Boy and the Baker's Girl, The 162 

Cake Walk, The 63 

Casey at the Bat 10 

Cash 28 

Christopher Columbus 37 

Coming from the Picnic Brandon Banner 79 

Counting Eggs Texas Si/tings ...... . . 145 

Crushed Tragedian, The Ed. L. McDowell 164 

Cushions 137 

"Dairy" Maid, A . . . 46 

*' Danny Deever" up to Date 98 

Delsartean Plea, A Boston Courier 9 

Demray Jake Peleg Arhwright 29 

Dem Old Dimes Habbiness und Dem New. iV^icA:S^ae<er 159 

Dot Long Handled Dipper ...... . Charles Follen Adams 134 

Educating to a Purpose TJiomas P Montfort 131 

Elusive Dollar Bill, The H. L. Wilson .... 86 

Emigrant's Return, The 141 

Encouraging Self-Murder 189 

Estrangement C. N. Coggswell 110 

Fall-Crick View of the Earthquake, A . James WJiitcomh Riley 69 

Four Flies. The E. D. Pierson 148 

Funny Story, The 51 

George Washingdone 80 

German Professor on Hypnotism, The . . A. T. Worden 66 

Gigglety Girl. The Judge 175 

Goneness of de Past, De 137 

His Sunday Clothes 179 

Hoop-Skijt, The 47 

How He Paralyzed the Chef 113 

Johnny's Fourth of July 20 

Justice in a Quandary 177 

V 



VI CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Latest Form of Literary Hysterics . . . Chicago Tribune 144 

Maiden Missionary, Tlie Paul tasbior . . 40 

Man Behind It to the Theatre Bonnet, 

The 116 

Man in the Moon and I, The Jacqes Esprit 140 

Marsh Song — Sunrise Eugene Field 81 

Mine Moder-in-Law Charles FoUen Adams ...... 105 

Mrs Brady's Conundrum 48 

Naming the Baby 114 

Necks— A Boy's Composition Laura 31. Bronson 109 

"No Fellow" 36 

No Hope for Literature S. W, Foss 108 

"Oh! Promise Me" Henry Firth Wood 84 

Over Behind Der Moon Joe Kerr 82 

Overheard at the Zoo Charles M. Snyder 68 

Paddy's Keflections on Cleopathera's 

Needle Cormac O'Leary 185 

Papa and the Boy J. L. Harbour 70 

Parody on Barbara Frietchie 157 

Poet's Morn, The Walter Storrs Bigeloio 136 

Remarkable Experience, A 75 

Rip Van Winkle 55 

Royal Bumper Degree, The PecFs Sun 101 

Rural Remonstrance, A Boston Courier 92 

Small Boy's Loquitur, The 85 

Snorkey's Version of the Flood and the 

Ark 15 

Still True St. James Gazette Ill 

Street Cries Edward Eggleston 38 

Taken on Trial Fanny Barlow 53 

Tale of the East (Side) A John Albro 94 

Tale of a Dog, The 117 

That Littul Orfiin Brat Joe Kerr 74 

Thirty Years with a Shrew Brooklyn Eagle 181 

Tragedy, A J. Armoy Knox 7 

Tucked Oup in Ped 176 

Unawares Joe Kerr 90 

Under-Tow. The 156 

Voices of the Night Joe Kerr 106 

When the Sunflowers Bloom Albert Bigelow Paine 120 

What He Called It Somerville Journal 121 

Who Santa Claus Wuz James Whitcomb Riley 187 

Why Jim Forsook the Ministry Clarence H. Pierson 141 

Will You Love Me When I'm Bald? . . Henry Firth Wood 19 

"YuuGetUp!" Joe Kerr 62 



GOOD-HUMOR 

FOR READING AND RECITATION 



A TRAGEDY. 



"TAON'T tell me ^there's room at the top,"' said 
-L' the crushed tragedian to his dilapidated friend 
Yorick, as he carefully measured the distance with 
his eye from one railroad tie to another. " It's all 
bosh. Look at me ! Consider your own case : we 
each aspired to be on the upper walks, and now each 
one walks on his uppers. 

" Out upon thee, Fate ! 

" Shakespeare was right when he said, All the 
world's a stage.' 

" But it's the stage of decay — and, considering the 
result of this starring tour, we're on that stage our- 
selves; at least we are both mortified. 

" However, good Yorick, starring tours, in a mea- 
sure, are what they are cracked up to be. 

" That is, when you come in contact with them 
they are sure to be cracked up. 

"Alas ! first the leaves begin to fall, and then the 
fall begins to leave. 

" So it is with us : struggles prepare us to succeed, 
and then rivals prepare to succeed us. 

" Sth — death ! There, don't be alarmed ; 'twas my 
chilblains. 

7 



8 A TRAGEDY 

" One would fancy that these railroad corporations 
could afford to ballast their roads a little more 
evenly. 

" But corporations have no souls ; and there are 
we even with them, mine ancient friend, for we left 
the last vestige of our soles many ties back. 

" I fancy I have done for a time with the foot- 
lights, except that my only concern now is to see that 
my foot lights with precision upon a tie each time. 

"Ah, ha ! a thought ! Stand thou there, mine 
hungry friend, and we will enact a tragedy as in- 
spiration prompts. In me behold the apoplectic 
Boniface : be thou the needy mendicant." 

Boniface — "Ah, ha! there's hunger in thy face." 

Mendicant — "And famine in my stomach." 

Bon. — " Why dost not work? Art on a loaf?" 

Men. — " Nay ; but, please the gods, I would love 
to work upon a loaf — a half loaf — a slice." 

Bon.—" Oh, ho ! a wag." 

Men. — "A most dismal one, good sir; like unto a 
hungry cur shorn of its tail, I'll shortly be a van- 
ished wag, save I something eat." 

Bon. — "An' I have something saved to eat. Enter, 
mine empty friend, and be satisfied. Eat, drink, and 
be whoop !" 

[_Enter the limited express over the piling upon ichich 
the famished Thespians had unconsciously walked.~\ 

"Adieu, Yorick !" 

" Vale, Horatio ! !" Splash!!! Splash!!!! 

J. Armoy Knox. 



A DELSARTEAX PLEA 

A DELSARTEAN PLEA. 



DEAR Mr. Delsarte ! 
Since you've taught us that art 
Must replace Mother Nature's injunctions 
And teach us anew 
What we really should do 
With our various physical functions, 

We beg you would add 

To the lessons we've had 
About walking and breathing and posing, 

Other hints that will make 

All our doings partake 
Of a grace more perfection disclosing. 

We'd be taught, if you please, 

How to gracefully sneeze, 
How to snore in symmetrical manner, 

How to get out of bed. 

How to drop when we tread 
On the cuticle of a banana ; 

How to smell, how to wink. 

How to chew, how to drink. 
How sublimely to shake an ash-sifter, 

How to step on a tack. 

How to get in a hack, 
How to toy with a heated stove-lifter; 

How to hiccough with ease. 
How to groan, how to wheeze. 
How to spank a night-brawling relation ; 



10 CASEY AT THE BAT 

In short, how to mend 
The mistakes that our friend 
Dame Nature mixed in our creation. 

Boston Courier. 



CASEY AT THE BAT. 



THERE was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped 
into his place, 
There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on 

Casey's face ; 
And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed 

his hat, 
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at 
the bat. 

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his 

hands with dirt. 
Five thousand tongues applauded when be w^iped 

them on his shirt ; 
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball 

into his hip, 
Defiance glanced in Casey's eye, a sneer curled 

Casey's lip. 

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling 

thro' the air. 
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur 

there ; 
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped. 
" That aint my style," said Casey, " Strike one," the 

umpire said. 



CASEY AT THE BAT 11 

From the benches, black with people, there went up 
a muffled roar, 

Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and dis- 
tant shore; 

" Kill him ! kill the umpire !" shouted some one on 
the stand. 

And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey 
raised his hand. 

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's 

visage shone. 
He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go 

on; 
He signalled to the pitcher, and once more the 

spheroid flew, 
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said 

" Strike two." 

" Fraud !" cried the maddened thousands, and the 

echo answered, " Fraud !" 
But the scornful look from Casey, and the audience 

was awed ; 
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his 

muscles strain. 
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go 

by again. 

The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are 

clenched in hate. 
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the 

plate ; 



12 THE BITTER CRY OF THE CHOIR BOY 

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets 

it go. 
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's 

blow. 

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is 

shining bright, 
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere 

hearts are light ; 
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere 

children shout, 
But there is no joy in Boston — mighty Casey has 

struck out. 



THE BITTER CRY OF THE OUTCAST CHOIR 
BOY. 



BREAK ! Break ! Break ! 
voice, on my old top C ! 
And I would that my voice could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 

O well for the fishmonger's boy 

That he shrieks his two notes above A. 

well for the tailor's son 

That he soars in the old, old way. 

And the twelve-year chaps go on 
Up the gamut steady and shrill. 

But for the croak of a larynx cracked 
And a glottis that won't keep still. 



biddy's troubles 13 

Break! Break! Break! 
voice on my dear top C. 
But the swell solo parts of a boyhood fled 
They'll never give more to me. 

London Punch. 



BIDDY'S TROUBLES. 



"TT'S thru for me, Katy, that I never seed the like 
-L of this people afore. It's a sorry time I've been 
having since coming to this house, twelve months 
agone this week Thursday. Yer know, honey, 
that my fourth coosin, Ann Macarthy, recom- 
mended me to Mrs. Whaler, and told the lady 
that I knew about ginteel housework and the likes ; 
while at the same time I had niver seed inter an 
American lady's kitchen. So she engaged me, and 
my heart was jist ready to burst wid grief for the 
story that Ann had told, for Mrs. Whaler was a swate 
spoken lady, and niver looked cross-like in her life ; 
that I knew by her smooth, kind face. Well, jist the 
first thing she told me to do, after I dressed the chil- 
dren, was to dress the ducks for dinner. I stood 
looking at the lady for a couple of minutes before I 
could make out any meaning at all to her words. 
Thin I wint searching after clothes for the ducks ; and 
such a time as I had, to be sure. High and low I 
went, till at last my mistress axed me for what I was 
looking ; and I told her the clothes for the ducks, to 
be sure. Och! how she scramed and laughed, 
till my face was rid as the sun wid shame, and she 



14 biddy's troubles 

showed me in her kind, swate way what her maning 
was. Thin she told me how to air the beds ; and it 
was a day for me indade, when I could go up cham- 
ber alone and clare up the rooms. One day Mrs. 
Whaler said to me : 

" ' Biddy, an' ye may give the baby an airin', if 
yees will.' 

" What should I do — and it's thru what I am say- 
ing this blessed minute— but go up-stairs wid the child, 
and shake it, and then howld it out of the winder. 
Such a scraming and kicking as the baby gave — but 
I hild on the harder. Everybody thin in the strate 
looked up at me ; at last misthress came up to see 
what for was so much noise. 

" ^ I am thrying to air the baby,' I said, ' but it 
kicks and scram es dridfully.' 

^' There was company down below, and when Mrs. 
Whaler told them what I had been after doing I 
thought they would scare the folks in the strate wid 
scraming. 

'^And then I was told I must do up Mr. Whaler's 
sharts one day when my mistress was out shop- 
ping. She told me repeatedly to do them up nice, 
for master was going away, so I takes the sharts and 
did them all up in some paper that I was after 
bringing from the ould counthry wid me, and tied 
some nice pink ribbon around the bundle. 

" ' Where are the sharts, Biddy ?' axed Mrs. Whaler 
when she comed home. 

" ' I have been doing them up in a quair nice way,' 
I said, bringing her the bundle. 



sxorkey's version of the flood 15 

" ^ Will you iver be done wicl your graneness?' she 
axed me with a loud scrame. 

" I can't for the life of me be tellin' what their 
talkin' manes. At home we calls the likes of this 
fine work starching ; and a deal of it I have done, 
too. Och ! and may the Blessed Vargin pity me, 
for I never'U be cured of my graneness !" 



SNORKEY'S VERSION OF THE FLOOD AND 
THE ARK. 



A CROWD of newsboys had gathered in front of 
the " Recorder " office, waiting for the papers to 
be issued. 

" Hey, Snorkey ! Come over an' give uz a lesson, 
will yez ?" 

Snorkey was on the opposite side of the street, and 
he came across and sat down upon the curb. 

" Wot'U I give yez ?" he asked. ^' Lemme see ! 
How'U ' Mr. Noah an' de Ark ' go ? Dat's wot we 
had las' Sunny." 

" Dat's a go. Is dere swimmin' in it ?" 

"Aah, come off yer perch ! wait till yer git it, will 
yer?" 

They crowded about him and listened intently. 

" Well, yer see," began Snorkey, as he stuck his 
sore toe in the mud, " Mr. and Mrs. Noah had three 
sons. Dey wuz called Sham, Ham " — 

"Sandwiches fur two dis way!" interrupted Boli- 
var. 



16 snorkey's version of the flood 

" Ef he opens his trap agin welt him on der nose," 
said Snorkey. "Well, ez I was saying, dey had 
three sons, which wuz Sham, Ham, and Jacket. 
Der people wuz awful wicked in dem days, so Noah 
he got der tip dat it wuz goin' ter rain fur forty days 
and forty nights, an' " — 

" Johnny git yer gun, fur he drives me crazy," 
sang the unbeliever, Bolivar. 

" Well," continued Snorkey, " der rain beginned, 
but Noah an' his folks wuz fixed. Dey'd built a 
ark." 

" Let her go, Gallagher," said Bolivar, " but don't 
give us too much Latin guff in it." 

" Well, der rain cum an' Mr. Noah an' his hull 
family wuz fixed. Dey wuz right in it. Dey'd been 
gettin' all kinds o' animals tergedder, an' when der 
rain begins dey wuz all hunky oliver. Dey had 
chickens an' pigs an' horses an' cows an' bears an' 
annyconnors." 

" Wuz Anny Conners dere ? She's too flip. She 
alius takes in der moonlights, hey. Pug?" came from 
Bolivar. 

"Betcher bustle! Snorky means Anny Connors 
wot's snakes in the mooseyum. Right, Snork ?" 

'J Yep. Anny Connors an' rangytangs an' hippy- 
potsumus an' whale, an' every oder kin' of bird an' 
animal an' fish." 

"An' monks ?" asked Bolivar. 

" A-ah course ! Every tinks, didn't I tell yer?" 

" How much ter get in ?" asked Nigger. 

"Ter get inter wot?" 



sxorkey's version of the flood 17 

"Der show." 

"Ah! 'twus'n't enney show. Dey jest took der 
animals an' tings along ter save 'em fur a fresh crop 
when all der oders wuz drownded. See? Well, 
everybody but Noah an' his family an' der animals 
wuz drownded." 

" Couldn't de blokies swim ?" asked Rags. 

" Hully gee ! how cud dey sw^im when it wuz 
rainin' fur forty days an' forty nights ? Yer hain't 
got der sense ov a bootblack ur a 'Gypshun money. 
Well, finally dey landed on a big mountain wot dey 
called Hairyrat. Den it begin ter clear off an' der 
water begin ter take a tumble ter itself. But Mr. 
Noah w^uz no chump, an' wot d'yer spose he done ?" 

" Got a life preserver ?" ventured Rags. 

" Nope. Your turn, Freckles." 

"Swalley'd de whale?" 

" Ah ! rats. Give uz one, Bolivar." 

" Went down cellar an' tapped a fresh keg ?" 

" Keg narthin ! Now you, Nig." 

" Swim overhanded ?" 

"Way off; next, Pug !" 

" Floated ashore ?" 

" Nixey. He jist sent out a pidgon. He knowed 
dat if de pidgon cum back wid sum leaves everything 
wuz hoochy-koochy, so he sent out the — " 

" Dere's a pidgon on der roof, an' he won't keep 
easy !" began Bolivar, but Pug brought him a right- 
hander that silenced him. 

" Well pooty soon de pidgon didn't cum back. He 
wuz drownded. So, Noah, he jist laid low fur a day 



18 snorkey's version of the flood 

er so, an' den he sent out anoder pidgon. Cross me 
troat, dat pidgon cum back 0. K., an' Noah an' his 
caboodle walked ashore an' wuz all right, McCarthy." 

"Who give yer dat song an' dance?" asked Boli- 
var, sneeringly. 

" Der preacher up at der Sunday-school. Dat's 
wot." 

" You go tell dat galoot dat he oughter chain him- 
self up or he'll break loose an' hurt sumbody." 

"You don't b'leeve it?" 

" Not enny ! Dat's a fairy story !" 

" Den by der hokey pokey, I'm goin' ter make yer 
b'leeve it!" 

Snorkey jerked his coat off, and Bolivar rolled up 
his sleeves. In less time than it takes to tell it, 
Snorkey was sitting on Bolivar's back, and Bolivar 
was breathing hard. 

"D'yer b'leeve it once? D'yer b'leeve it twicet? 
D'yer b'leeve it third an' last time. Aner, maner, 
moner, mike ! D'yer b'leeve it?" 

As Snorkey uttered each word he sat a little 
harder and was preparing for a final " squash," when 
Bolivar surrendered. ^ 

" Make it forty hours an' I'll go yer!" he pleaded. 

"Forty days an' forty nights or nartin'!" said 
Snorkey. 

" Chuck off der nights !" urged Bolivar. 

" Not a night. Once, twice, thr — " 

" It's a go !" gasped Bolivar, and the Sunday-school 
was adjourned sine die. 



WILL YOU LOVE ME WHEN i'm BALD? 19 

WILL YOU LOVE ME WHEN I'M BALD? 



SAY, will you love me when I'm bald ? 
When my poor head is smooth and bare ? 
For I must tell you now, sweet love, 
That I am surely getting there ! 

These mornings, when I run my comb 

Straight through my tresses, thinner grown, 

The slender teeth begin to scratch, 
And draw from me an inward moan. 

I'm forced to face the future, when 
To use a brush will make me howl ! 

My last and only refuge, then 
Will be to comb it with a towel. 

At church, the people sitting back. 

All pass remarks about my hair ; 
And spring that ancient, mossy joke, 

" That there will be no parting there !'' 

And soon, whene'er I go to plays. 

They'll place me on the foremost row, 

Amongst the bald and shining pates 
Where never more the hair will grow. 

But, love, you will not take to heart, 
My sorrow, but will help me bear 

The stings and arrows thrust my way — 
For I cannot stop this falling hair ! 



20 johnny's fourth of JULY 

And if, by chance, you place your face 
Against my forehead, high and wide ; 

You will not mind it, if you find. 

It grown so smooth your face will slide ? 

No ! love ! I cannot think that you 
Will smile at me whate'er I'm called : 

You'll try to cover up the spot, 

And love me more when I am bald. 

Henry Firth Wood. 



JOHNNY'S FOURTH OF JULY. 



OF course Johnny wanted to stay in town for the 
Fourth and help Charlie Wilkins set off his box 
of fireworks in the evening, but Ma said she was sure 
he'd be run over by a procession or something, or 
those Wilkins boys would blow his eye out with a 
squib, and Aunt Sophia said that the brass bands 
and torpedoes always brought on her neuralgia, and 
that she really thought we ought all go out and have 
a real family party somewhere in the country. So 
Ma tackled Pa about it, and Pa said he'd be horn- 
swoggled if he was in the Independence picnic busi- 
ness when times were so hard, and that as for Johnny, 
let him go ahead and blow the top of his head ofi* if 
he wanted to, but if there was any trouble he'd give 
him a dressing down he'd remember till Christmas. 
Aunt Sophia was awfully cut up over Pa's refusal, 
but Ma said she'd manage it, and waited until one 
morning after Pa had been to a club dinner. Ma 



johnny's fourth of JULY 21 

broached the subject again sweetly, and Pa said cer- 
tainly he really thought it was the duty of every 
citizen to make his family happy on the Fourth, and 
that he'd send us anywhere Ma wanted to go, and Ma 
said we could all go up cheaply to Cousin Sue's place 
at Saugerties, and Pa said that was a happy thought, 
and we could get square with Cousin Sue for that 
visit she paid us last Christmas, and that Ma had a 
great long head if she was fat. 

Well, we all came up on the 11.30 train yesterday, 
and here we are. Cousin Sue was waiting for us at 
the station in the trap and kissed us all round but 
Pa, who shook hands with her and said he was 
awfully glad to see her looking so well, but whispered 
afterward to Ma that he was glad that freckles weren't 
contagious, for Cousin Sue had about the worse 
case he ever saw. There wasn't room enough in the 
trap for all of us, so Pa had Johnny and William 
walk and said it would do William's brain good to 
stretch his legs a little, and if he heard another 
word from Johnny they'd have a little quiet inter- 
view when they got to the house. So Johnny stopped 
asking why he couldn't ride, and walked off with 
William who had on his new spring suit and a sil- 
ver-headed cane, and evidently wanted Johnny to 
behave, and not spoil his impression on the girls. 
But the minute Pa and the trap were out of sight 
Johnny got reckless. He threw a stone and lamed 
a chicken to begin with, then climbed a fence and 
got some cherries and shot a pit at William and 
made a bull's eye on his white scarf, where it made a 



22 johnny's fourth of july 

purple stain. Then William and he were not on 
speaking terms, and Johnny got a switch and imi- 
tated William's method of carrying a cane, and two 
girls giggled and William was so mad he couldn't 
see. Finally Johnny saw a pug in the road and be- 
gan chunking it and hit the pug on the head, and 
he ran in yelling, and people came out and Johnny 
thought they looked familiar, and they were, for it 
was Cousin Sue's pug ; and Pa called Johnny softly ; 
and William gave a detailed report, and Pa and 
Johnny went into the orchard for an interview, and 
William went up-stairs for another scarf, and after 
awhile Pa came back and said that Johnny felt better, 
and we all had luncheon. 

After luncheon Pa said he had to go back to the 
city, and Cousin Sue said she was so sorry. She 
couldn't think that business should deprive him of 
pleasure, but Pa told Ma privately that Cousin Sue's 
green dress and red hair and freckles would make a 
brass monkey bilious, and he couldn't stand it, so he 
thought he'd go back and tackle the Fourth at the 
club. 

In the afternoon, however, Mr. and Mrs. Van 
Bumblebug came over from the cottage, and the 
Misses de Upenkoff dropped in with young Brent- 
wood Fidelstring, and then dear little Gwyn, who is 
Mrs. Forsyth now, you know, arrived with her hus- 
band and baby from the Kaaterskill, and after all the 
girls had cackled over the baby old Mr. Van Bum- 
blebug winked at Pa and said if he'd let business 
slide and stay over he thought they they could get 



johnny's fourth of JULY 23 

up a small limit in the evening and invite over old 
Fidelstring, who was a sucker, and Pa concluded to 
stay. Mrs. Van Bumblebug raved about Saugerties, 
and said she infinitely preferred the dreamy life here 
to the senseless frivolities of Newport, and Ma says 
this is very suitable, especially now that Mr. Van 
Bumblebug had failed and is head over ears in debt. 
Neither of the Misses de UpenkofF are married yet. 
Aunt Sophia says it is because they are so blue- 
blooded and fastidious, but Pa says either of them 
would sour milk in winter, and their only chance for 
a trousseau is to rope in some blind man. 

Brentwood Fidelstring talked a whole hour with 
Helen, and wanted to take her to the top of the hill 
to see the sunset, and Aunt Sophia whispered to Ma 
that she did hope it would be a match, for old Mr. 
Fidelstring was worth no end of real estate, but Pa 
frowned at Helen not to go, and said afterward that 
if she couldn't pick up anything better than that 
chucklehead she had better go and be a nun, and 
Helen said she didn't care a speck for Mr. Fidel- 
string, but thought Pa was real mean, and went up- 
stairs and had a good cry. Then Aunt Sophia's 
cat, Romeo, whom she had brought up in a box 
to get the fresh air, went strolling around in the back 
yard, and Johnny sicked Cousin Sue's pug on him, 
and Romeo swelled up as big as a keg and went for 
the pug and cleaned him out in one round, and Cou- 
sin Sue had to get out the arnica, and she and Aunt 
Sophia had some words, and Pa walloped Johnny 
again, and then said he'd go over and milk old Van 



24 johnny's fourth of july 

Bumblebug's croAvd in a jackpot or two, and went 
over and lost seven dollars, and came back and trod 
on Romeo in the hall, and Romeo remonstrated, so 
our first evening in Saugerties, take it all in all, was 
not a success. 

This morning, bright and early. Cousin Sue insisted 
on taking us all over the farm and showing us the 
'"ows and fruit trees, and Pa nearly had a sunstroke, 
and a bull got after Aunt Sophia's red parasol and 
she dropped it and just got over the fence with her 
life. Then Johnny turned up with cherry cholera, 
which Pa .said a little counter-irritation would cure, 
and Aunt Sophia flared up and said only a brute 
could lay violent hands on a sick boy, and carried 
Johnny off* to bed and brought him Romeo to play 
with, and after awhile came down radiant and said 
Johnny was better and that she was so happy at the 
way he and Romeo had made friends. Just then 
Romeo came down nine stairs at a jump and raced 
out the front door and around the piazza and in 
again through a window, and it took Aunt Sophia 
half an hour to catch him and take the spring 
clothes pin off" his tail, and Pa laughed and sent 
Helen up to tell Johnny he might get up now, and 
said he guessed he'd live till morning. 

We had no excitement then until after luncheon, 
when Cousin Sue asked Pa if he would like to walk 
down to the Post Office and hear the Saugerties Brass 
Band play, and Pa said not if he knew it, he felt 
homicidal enough as it was. But Johnny said he'd 
go and so Cousin Sue put on her pink bonnet and 



johnny's fourth of JULY 25 

took him, and Pa said thank goodness they were both 
gone, and now we'd have some peace. Then Mr. 
Fidelstring dropped over, as he said, to bring Johnny 
a little box of fireworks, but stayed to talk to Helen, 
and Pa took off his coat and fell asleep in the ham- 
mock, and Aunt Sophia gave Romeo a bath, and 
then Romeo met the pug again, and had another set- 
to. Ma went off for a nap, and we spent two hour 
very pleasantly. 

Just then Cousin Sue came back in hysterics and 
said she never saw such a boy as Johnny ; that she 
had bought him a pack of fire-crackers, and the first 
thing he did w^as to light the fuse and drop it into 
the big brass horn while the Saugerties Band were in 
tuning up, and the fire-crackers went off inside and 
blew all the music out of the thing, and then the 
man came out and wanted $10 and she didn't have 
it with her, and so the Constable arrested Johnny 
and had him locked up. Of course this frightened 
Ma nearly into a fit, and Aunt Sophia asked us if she 
hadn't always said a judgment was coming to that 
boy, and Mr. Fidelstring said it was really too 
pathetic, and Helen begged Cousin Sue not to wake 
up Pa and get Johnny lammed to death on the 
Fourth, and Cousin Sue said she wouldn't for worlds ; 
so Ma slipped on her bonnet and went down with 
Mr. Fidelstring and Aunt Sophia to see the Judge, 
and they compromised with the horn blower for $8 
and got Johnny out, and both Ma and Aunt Sophia 
kissed him and said they wouldn't tell Pa, and Johnny 
came back feeling like a martyr on the home stretch. 



26 johnny's fourth of july 

About alf-past eight Johnny rushed in and said 
it was real dark, and they were shooting rockets and 
sending up balloons near the station, and asked Pa 
if he couldn't set off the fireworks Mr. Fidelstring 
had brought. Pa said no — that he didn't propose 
paying any hospital bills — but that Johnny could 
come out and hold the punk, and he would show 
him how they used to celebrate when he was a boy. 
Johnny didn't like this arrangement, but had some 
delicacy in telling Pa so, so we all went out on the 
piazza, and Aunt Sophia put cotton in her ears, took 
Romeo and got in the parlor with the window down, 
and Mr. Fidelstring gave Helen his arm so she could 
steady herself, and Mr. Van Bumblebug, Cousin Sue, 
and Ma sat down on the steps. Pa set off three 
pinwheels first, but they wouldn't turn and didn't 
amount to much. Then he and Johnny worked a 
couple of Roman candles, which were a great suc- 
cess, except that one of the balls in coming down lit 
on Mr. Fidelstring's dicer and burned a hole in it, 
and another caught the pug on the nose and made 
him yell for ten minutes. Then Pa called to Aunt 
Sophia not to be an idiot but come out and see the 
fun, for he was going to let off a rocket. Aunt 
Sophia said she was comfortable where she was, but 
Pa insisted and so she came out, although she said 
it gave her a cold chill to see Johnny fooling around 
the box with that punk, so Mr. Fidelstring put it 
back of us on the piazza and said he'd suj)ply 
Johnny as fast as the rockets were needed. The 
first rocket went up with a beautiful fizz, and popped 



johnny's fourth of JULY 27 

into two red balls and a lot of sparks, and Ma and 
Cousin Sue said " My !" and Aunt Sophia said, '' Did 
you ever ?" and Helen said she never, and both Pa 
and Johnny were delighted. The next time they set 
off two rockets, and they were simply grand, like 
serpents of fire, Mr. Fidelstring said. Then Pa said 
he'd show us a wrinkle or two, and told Johnny to 
bring out four. Aunt Sophia got nervous and asked 
Pa if he wasn't afraid to set off so many, and Pa 
wanted to know if she thought he was a fool. So 
Mr. Fidelstring got four out of the box and Johnny 
and Pa set them up in a line against the wire fence 
and touched fuses, and said we'd see some fun, and 
so we would have, but Johnny was so excited he 
joggled the second rocket and it fell over and the other 
started up and knocked down two others and they 
began fizzing on the ground, and Pa yelled to Johnny 
to look out, and Aunt Sophia screamed, and Johnny 
kicked at one rocket and it turned round and flew 
over Mr. Van Bumblebug's head into the box of fire- 
works, and then rockets, blue lights, pinwheels, and 
mines began going off together, and Cousin Sue 
yelled " Fire !" Mr. Van Bumblebug started after 
an engine, and Romeo got a dose from a Roman 
candle and made a bee line for the woods. Pa danced 
around and howled, and Mr. Fidelstring said he'd 
protect Helen with his life, and then two Roman can- 
dles got to shooting balls through the window into 
the parlor, and a rocket sailed into the hall and burned 
a hole in the picture of Cousin Sue's grandmother, 
and before the cook could come out with a bucket 



28 " CASH " 

of water the last fire-cracker had exploded and the 

whole neighborhood was fall of smoke and excitement. 
The cook threw dishwater over the parlor floor and 
then tore down the curtains and would have ripped 
the house down, Pa said, if he hadn't stopped her. 
Just then the fire company came tearing up with a 
hose cart, and we saw a bright light behind the house 
and heard Mrs. Van Bumblebug scream, and we saw 
that one of the rockets had sailed over and touched 
off* the Van Bumblebugs' barn. 

We can't give you any further details to-night. 
Cousin Sue says this Fourth has cost her about $600, 
and she and Pa are not going to speak for awhile. 
Aunt Sophia says if any one finds a singed cat in the 
neighborhood she will pay a suitable reward and be 
grateful to her dying day, and Mr. Van Bumblebug 
says he'll be blamed if he don't carry it the Supreme 
Court but Pa shall pay for that barn. 

We go home on the early train to-morrow. 



" CASH." 



" riA-A-A-SH !" calls the Ribbon-clerk in Lacy's 

v^ dry goods store. 
And he pounds on the counter and " Ca-a-a-sh !" he 

calls some more. 
Oh ! all day long he yells for cash, and when the 

Aveek is o'er, 
He gets the eight crisp dollar bills that he's been 

shouting for. 



DEMMY JAKE 29 

" Cash !" call the Doctor, the Lawyer, Merchant, 

Chief, 
The Rich Man and the Poor Man, the Beggar Man 

and Thief. 
Each calls for cash, but what he gets as little represents 
The sum he thinks he ought to have as does that 

first-named gent's. 

Oh ! some dine at Delmonico's and some eat mutton 

hash. 
Some have to cut their cuffs each week, while others 

cut a dash ; 
For some have less, and some have more, but none 

will call me rash 
In stating that there is not one who does not call for 

cash. 

DEMMY JAKE. 



SAY, this lodgin '-house fur newsboys. 
Seems to me is gone to seed ; 
Summer diet aint invitin' 
As a steady winter feed ; 
Bread and tea and such like wittles 

May be good for mumps and croup, 
But when snappy weather comes on 
My belongin's votes for soup. 

Ef they don't improve we'll have to 
Waltz around to Baxter Street ; 

That chateau of Widdy Dobson's 
Wa'n't no slouch for lodgin', Pete. 



30 DEMMY JAKE 

Ef a feller wants to see life, 
That's the Ward to travel to ; 

Warious different kinds o' sinners 
Chins it there till all is blue. 

Rather have things neat and reg'ler ? 

So would I — you're talkin' sense ! 
I've saved up eleving dollars 

Sense I've roosted on this fence. 
This here crib is clean and wholesome, 

Ef it is a trifle slow , 
Growlin's cheap and don't cost nothin'. 

But I aint agoin' to go. 

Pete, you mind that dancin' cripple, 

Used to flourish on one fluke ? 
Demme Jake, they allers called him — 

Danced at Connorses' Grand Duke. 
Never seed him ? Never been there ? 

You don't say you never been ! 
Well, I thought that every Ayrab 

In this town had took that in. 

That there pallis of amoosement 

Tops the Bowery every time ; 
Hev to scoop it in some evenin', 

Wen we've raked an extra dime. 
Five cents each '11 buy the tickets, 

Five fur peanuts — hang expense ! 
Ef you like we'll go it nobby — 

Take a box fur fifteen cents. 



DEMMY JAKE 31 

I'm all hunk on savin' nickels, 

But a little taste o' fun 
Now and then don't hurt a feller, 

Helps to make the old thing run ; 
Makes the days more flush o' sunshine ; 

Makes yer work go ofl* more gay ; 
Ef your goin' to grind an organ. 

Have a monkey — that's my way. 

It were larks to see that cripple 

Dance them wooden pirouettes ; 
His one leg was worth a dozen 

Of the Bowery ballet pets ; 
Called 'em Terpsich'rean revels — 

Nothing like a fine French name 
Fur to carry off" a projeck, 

'Thout there's more of name than game. 

Speakin' of the Dobson ten'ment 

Made me think o' him just now ; 
We resided in that mansion, 

Him an' me did — that's the how. 
We was kind o' chums together ; 

He was older'n me, of course. 
But I tell you wot, that feller 

Had a heart like all out-doors. 

When old Sal Magundy flummixed, 

(Wot her name was I dunno. 
That's wot everybody called her — 

Anyhow she had to go.) 



32 DEMMY JAKE 

Little Sal was left an orphan, 
'Thout a single friend on earth ; 

Then that scanty, one-legged Jacob 
Showed what tender hearts is worth. 

She was purty as a chromo, 

All the worse for him, you see ; 
Gals that's too good-lookin' alius 

Brings some chap to misery ; 
Gits their little knowledge-boxes 

Full o' queer ideas, I speck ; 
Till they thinks themselves tin angels ; 

Gals aint got much intelleck. 

When they're plain its better fur 'em, 

Keeps 'em goin' sure and slow ; 
Fellers don't come buzzin' 'round 'em, 

Teachin' of 'em airs, you know. 
Tips and zifs, and peeps and riffles, 

B'longs, my boy, to dangerous stock ; 
When I takes a wife I'll choose one 

Ugly enough to stop a clock. 

It's astonishin' wot eejuts 

Purty eyes '11 bring men to ; 
Sal's was large and queer and shifty, 

Changin' round from black to blue. 
The old woman didn't teach her 

Nothin' worth the knowin'. Pete — 
Fact is, 'taint no mission chapel. 

That there house in Baxter Street. 



DEMMY JAKE 33 

Well, the old gal turned her toes up, 

Leavin' Sallie, as I said, 
'Thout a nickel in her pocket, 

Or a place to lay her head ; 
And she might have starved or done worse, 

But fur Jake ; he tumbled to, 
Said he'd be a brother to her ! 

O my eye ! — a cripple, too ! 

Then he buckled into workin' 

Late and early, night and day ; 
Peddlin' pencils in the day-time, 

Dancin' nights amazin' gay ; 
It was puffickly surprisin' 

How that cripple done so much ; 
Tell yer, some o' you young roosters, 

Might be better fur a crutch. 

Starved himself to clothe and feed her, 

Hoped she'd marry of him, Pete ; 
And the poor cuss used to tell me 

How divine she were, an' sweet ; 
But he didn't durst to ask her — 

It's the queerest thing in life, 
Fur to see a fellow scary 

When he's snoopin' fur a wife. 

Molls is mostly purty anxious ; 

Chaps don't often have to beg ; 
But the fact is Jake was cut up 

'Cos he traveled on one leg. 
3 



34 DEMMY JAKE 

So it run along a good while, 
'Bout six months or so I b'lieve, 

Till he come to me last winter, 

One night — it were Christmas Eve. 

Sot down, pale and weak and tremblin', 

With a bundle on his knee ; 
Let his crutch fall down quite kerless, 

And his eyes were queer to see ; 
*' Ike," he says, " she left this mornin', 

Yes, she's gone — she's went away ; 
I'm afraid that Flash Bob took her — 

He's been missin' too, to-day. 

" Oh ! it's hard !" he says, " it's orful ! 

Dunno where she's went at all ! 
It don't signify — that gnostic's 

Took her far beyond my call. 
Ef he'd been an honest feller — 

But a blackleg ! Ike, you know 
What that means for Sallie's future? — 

Shame and grief! Why did she go?" 

He'd been fumblin' with his bundle, 

Without knowin' wot he did ; 
And the things begun to fall out, 

But he spied 'em as they slid. 
Picked them up with shakin' fingers, 

Laid um kerful on a chair ; 
Purty, woman's duds they was, Pete, 

Nice and warm for winter wear. 



DEMMY JAKE 35 

" Them," he says, " was Sallie's Christmas — 

Oh ! why was I ever born ! 
Ike, it's hard to be a cripple, 

Only fit fur people's scorn ! 
Ef I'd been a handsome feller, 

Sometime we'd been married yet ; 
And I loved her, Ike, I loved her, 

Oh ! so much ! my little pet ! 

" I'd 'a' been so careful of her — 

I'd 'a' worked hard fur her sake " — 
Then he broke down, and he sot there, 

Sobbin' like his heart would break ; 
When the door was opened softly — 

Which it had been on a crack — 
What d'y' think ? That young gal stood there, 

Just behind the poor chap's back ; 

And her face was like a sunrise 

Shinin' through a misty sky, 
Whils't she touched him on the shoulder, 
" Jake," she says, " my boy, don't cry ! 
Was these pretty things for me, Jake? 

But your Christmas, dear," says she, 
Will you take me for your Christraas ? 

Would you be content with me ?" 

Then she nestled down and kissed him. 

With her purty cheeks all wet ; 
And I b'lieve a happier Christmas 

Never struck a cripple yet. 



36 " NO FELLOW " 

How'd I come to run her down so? 

I was foolin' of yer, Pete ; 
Fur a better little woman, 

Don't reside in Baxter Street. 

Peleg Arkwright. 



"NO FELLOW." 



A PRETTY girl— 
A summer night, 
A moon serene and mellow. 
A vacant chair 
Waits for a pair. 

But missing is the fellow. 

Again the moon. 
Another night. 

Same girl, but sa'd to tell, oh ! 
That vacant chair 
Stands vacant there, 

Still missing is the fellow. 

A mountain nook, 
A sparkling brook, 

Red lips sweet tales to tell, oh ! 
But sad the truth. 
There is no youth. 

No anxious, listening fellow. 

Once more we look 
Upon that brook, 

Same girl sits in the dell, oh ! 



CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 37 

And patient waits 

Through endless dates 
That much-desired fellow. 



CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 



DEESA man liva in Italia a gooda longa time ago. 
He hada greata head ever since he was a kidda. 
Not a bigga heada likea de politicians nowaday — not 
a swella heada. His fadda keepa de standa in Italia. 
Sella de peanutta and de banan. Maka plente de 
mon. Christopher Colum he say, '^ Fadda, gimma 
de stamp, I go finda de new world." His fadda he 
laugh, " Ha! ha!" just so. Den Christopher he say, 
" Whata you maka fun ? I betta you I finda new 
world." After a long time his fadda say, ^^ You go 
finda new world, and bringa it over here." Den de 
olda man he buy him a grip-sack, an' giva him 
boodle, an' maka him a present of three ships to 
come over to deesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum 
he saila an' saila for a gooda many day. He don't 
see any landa. An' he say, '^ I giva fiva dollar bill if 
I was back in Italia !" Well, he saila, an' he saila, 
an' vera soon he strika Coney Island. Den dat maka 
him glad ! Very soon he coma to Castle Garden, an' 
den he walka up Broadway an' he feel very bada. 
He finda outa dat de Irish gang has gotta possession 
of New Yorka ! He don't lika de Irish, an' de Sham- 
rocka donta lika him. He donta go vera far before 
a pleasanter mana speaks to him. He say, " How-a- 



38 STREET CRIES 

you do, Mista Jones ? How a-de folks in Pittaburg ?" 
Christopher Colum he say, '^ I notta Mista Jones; I 
reada the papers ; I tinka you sella de green goods, 
ha? You go away, or I broka your jaw?" Den he 
shaka hees fista deesa way, and de man he skedaddle. 
Den he tries to crossa de Broad-a-way, but it fuUa de 
mud an' he canta swim. Very soon he sees a policeman 
cluba de mana, one, two, three times,an' he feel secka de 
stom' ! Next he meeta de politicians uppa Tammany 
Hall, an' dees wanta him to runna for Alderman. 
He getta plenty friend. He learna to " settom op " at de 
bar many times. Next day he hava heada like deesa ! 
His fadda writa : " Why you notta bringa back de 
new world? I lika to hava de earth !" Christopher 
Colum he writa back dat New Yorka is already in de 
hands of the Shamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and 
buys a place an' calla it after himself — Colum. Soon 
he goa broka an' taka de nexta train home in dis- 
gusta, because he reada in de paper dat de Fair in '93 
will be holda in Chicago ! 



STREET CRIES. 



THE Englishman's waked by the lark, 
A-singing far up in the sky ; 
But a damsel with wheel-baritone, 
Pitched fearfully high, 
Like a lark in the sky, 
Wakes me with a screech 
Of " Horse Ree-dee-ee-eech !" 



STREET CRIES 39 

The milkman, he crows in the morn, 

And then the street cackle begins : 
Junk-man with cow-bells, and fish-man with horn 
And venders of brushes and pins, 
And menders of tubs and of tins. 
" Wash-tubs to mend ! Tin-ware to mend !" 
Oh ! who will deliverance send ? 
Hark ! that girl is beginning her screech — 
" Horse—" '' —tubs " " Ripe peach—" 

Then there's " 0-ranges," '' Glass toputin," 

And bagpipes, and peddlers, and shams ; 
The hand-organizer is mixing his din 

With " Strawber— " " Nice sof ' clams !" 
"Wash-tubs to mend," "• Tin-ware to mend !" 

Oh ! heaven deliverance send ! 

I'd swear, if it wasn't a sin. 

By " — any woo-ood?" "Glass toputin!" 

" Ice-cream !" I'm sure that you do ! 

And madly the whole town is screaming. 

" Pie-apples !" ^" Shedders !" " Oysters !" and " Blue 
Berries !" with " Hot corn all steaming !" 
'' Umbrell's to mend !" — My head to mend ! 
How swiftly I'd like to send 
To — somewhere — this rackety crew, 
That keep such a cry and a hue 
Of "Hot—" "Wash-tubs!" and " Pop- 
Corn-balls !" Oh! corn-bawler stop ! 

From morning till night the street's fall of hawkers 
Of " North River shad !" and " Ba-nan-i-yoes !" 



40 THE MAIDEN MISSIONARY 

Of men and women and little girl squawkers— 
" Ole hats and boots ! Ole clo'es !" 
" Times, Tribune, and Worruld !" 
" Here's yer Morning Hurrold !" 
What a confounded din 
Of " Horse red—" "—to put in!" 
" Ripe—" "Oysters," and " Potatoes—" " to mend !" 
Till the watchman's late whistle comes in at the 
end. 

Edward Eggleston. 



THE MAIDEN MISSIONARY. 



THERE she goes, with schemes prolific for the 
heath en-isled Pacific, 
All her soul with pity burning for those far-off 
coral shores ; 
She would have her friends endow a ladies' school in 
Chicahaua, 
And establish kindergartens through the indolent 
Azores. 

Now she pleads with you to sign a paper in behalf 
of China, 
To correct an ancient evil by a prize for larger feet ; 
And her lovely eyes are swimming, while she speaks 
of heathen women. 
With their shocking scant apparel and the vulgar 
food thev eat. 



THE MAIDEN MISSIONARY * 41 

Not a man has heart to snub her, though she turns 
the talk to blubber, 
Oily natives of Kamschatka and the podgy Esqui- 
maux ; 
Or, at hinted change of toj^ic, takes you flying o'er 
the tropic, 
To the swarthy son of xlfi'ic with a bangle through 
his nose. 

Oh ! she looks and speaks so sweetly that she wins 
your heart completely, 
And her strings of dry statistics chain you like a 
silken mesh ; 
You give most profound attention to each several 
heathen mention. 
For her face is like a rose-leaf, and your heart is 
only flesh. 

By and by with fingers taper she presents a folded 
paper, 
And you spread it out before you with a sigh that 
sweeps the floor ; 
Here are victims without number, from a poet to a 
plumber, 
And you never saw such figures on a begging sheet 
before. 

Up you glance with indecision — but you see a plead- 
ing vision. 
Dewy lips beset with dimples, eyes like sweet un- 
uttered prayers ; 



42 • BILLY THE BILK 

And with all your spirit burning you set down a 
whole week's earning, 
To assist some lucky heathen up the shining 
golden stairs. 

Paul Pastnor. 



BILLY THE BILK; OR, THE BANDITS OF 
THE BOWERY. 

BY 

Capt. Maine Kead, Jr., 

AUTHOR OF 

Iron Bound Ed, the Elevator Boy, or From the Bottom to the Top ; Ash 
Barrel Ike, the Scavenger Detective, or Out for the Dust ; Rob Ruby, 
the Diamond Duke, or a Bad Man from Bitter Creek ; the Doomed 
Dozen, or the Danite's Daughter, etc. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 

"TTILL me if you will, but spare my life !" 

-1-V The shrieking voice of a young girl rang out 
upon the night on Chatham Square. 

There was a sound of hurrying feet, but all was 
still. 

. Then the quick, sharp sound of a policeman's club 
clattering on the stone pavement was heard, and 
dusky forms were seen hurrying through the dark- 
ness. From Giblet's Concert Hall, across the way, 
the sound of dreamy music floated out upon the 



BILLY THE BILK ' 43 

night. The shrill cry of the waiter, " two up and 
one down, and certain death with seltzer on the out- 
side," rang across the silent street. The figure of a 
man crouched in a doorway near by shrank further 
back into the darkness. None heard the low mock- 
ing laugh he uttered. 

The brave policeman fought his way through the 
empty street and reached the scene of the struggle. 
There was nothing there. 

The mocking laugh of the man crouched in the 
doorway rang out again as the policeman stooped 
down and picked up an anvil that had been dropped 
in the struggle. 

What could it mean ? 

CHAPTER II. 

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS. 

The scene is the Cherry Hill Hotel. In the hand- 
some and spacious office a dozen clerks sit dozing 
during the busy day. 

" Has there been a bass drum left here for me ?" 
inquired a voice. 

The hotel clerk quits rubbing his diamond with the 
office blotter and looks up. 

The speaker is a short, thick-set man, very tall and 
thin. 

" No bass drum has been left here," answered the 
clerk, after searching the safe. 

" Heavens ! have I been misled ?" mutters the 
man. '' But no ; she dare not play me false." Then 
he turns to the hotel clerk and adds : 



44 * BILLY THE BILK 

" Should a bass drum be left here, wrap it up care- 
fully and send a messenger at once to William Wil- 
liams, 210 Bowery. I will call for it myself." 

Then he walks briskly away. A bright featured 
lad in the uniform of a bell boy gazes suspiciously 
at the stranger. " It is Billy the Bilk," he mutters. 

Upstairs in room 13 a man of middle age sits back 
at his ease smoking a cigarette. A smile of self-sat- 
isfied complacency is upon his face. There is a 
knock at the door. The man goes to it. There is no 
one in the corridor, but on the threshold lies a note. 
It is addressed to Mr. Douglas Blanchard. The 
man opens it and reads : 

" Beware ! Billy the Bilk has called for the bass 
drum." 

His face changes deathly white. He throws up 
his hands and falls forward in a swoon. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE MISSING LINK. 

Irene Blanchard sat in her boudoir reading a vol- 
ume of Emerson, a glad, wild girl of 35. What was 
this change that had lately come over her? What 
had embittered her life ? " What use to live ?" she 
murmured. " My young life made a curse, my father 
a stranger to his family." Then she read the poet's 
lines : 

It was the sad noon of the night ; 
Each lamp-post heaved a sigh. 
The pavement lay as still as death ; 
A tear stood in each eye. 



BILLY THE BILK 45 

" It is like the anguished echo of mine own life," 
she said. 

At this moment the loud beating of a bass drum 
sounded through the night. '' It is the serenade," 
she said. " Why will he dare come when he knows 
he endangers his life and my happiness. I can never 
love him even though he hold my father in his 
power." 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 

It is the night of St. Patrick's day. The Bowery 
is a blaze of light. Laughing crowds pass by upon 
the street. A sweet-faced girl, scantily protected 
from the biting March wind, stands on the corner of 
Baxter Street singing the " Cruiskeen Lawn." The 
careless passer-by does not note the pinched appear- 
ance of her face, upon which her nose, so long and 
sharp that it would pick a lock, stands out in bold 
relief. A man clutches her on the shoulder. '' What 
have you made ?" he says. 

" But a few pennies," she replies. " ' Cruiskeen 
Lawn ' is a back number ; nothing but ' Sweet Katie 
Connor ' and ' Comrades ' goes on the Bowery now." 

^\You lie, you jade!" he hisses. ''I stagged a 
bloke giving you tenpence," and he strikes her a 
cruel blow. 

The next instant he feels himself clutched in the 
strong grasp of a tall young man in a full dress suit. 
It is Shelton Langdon, an active member of the 
Manhattan Athletic Club. 



46 A "dairy" maid 

" You cur !" he says, " to strike a lady." 

Billy, the Bilk, for it is he, utters a shrill whistle. 
In a few moments Langdon is dragged into a den 
near-by, and a 79-cent suit replaces his costly gar- 
ments. Held by a dozen men he is helpless, but 
above him he can see the sneering face of Billy the 
Bilk. 

" Ed Mortimer should be here now with the po- 
lice," says the young man. " Glory, then, Billy the 
Bilk, in your short-lived triumph." 

At this instant the crashing sound of an iron anvil 
is heard against the door. The baffled bandits 
crouch against the wall as they hear the ringing 
voice of Ed Mortimer at the door. Another crash 
and the structure totters and falls, and Iron Bound 
Ed springs into the room saying — 

The continuation of this story will be found in No. 4,11,44 of the 
•* Messenger Boy's Journal.'' Price, 5 cents. All dealers. 



A " DAIRY " MAID. 



A GLOWING flush was on her cheek, 
A brightness in her eye, 
She seemed as if about to speak 
As swift she passed me by. 

And as she went, so full of grace, 

I saw how very neat 
She was, from ribboned cap of lace 

To trimly-gaitered feet. 



THE HOOP SKIRr 47 

At length she spoke, — alas ! the fall 

Ere my descent was done ! 
Above the din I hear her call, — 
" Beef and ! Pork and ! Draw one !" 



THE HOOP SKIRT. 



I REMEMBER, I remember the hoops my best gal 
wore 
When first I went a-sparking her, way back in '54 — 
For when I'd see her home o' nights, I allow 't was 

kinder rough 
To stump along the gutter, 'cause the walk wa'n't 
wide enough ! 

I remember, I remember the settin' room at home. 
When the old folks all hed gone to bed an' left us 

there alone ; 
To get in spoonin' distance was more'n I could do. 
An' when she tuk the sofy seat there wa'n't no room ' 

for two ! 

I remember, I remember how I us' to sweat an' 

work 
A-tryin' to figger out a way to beat that durned hoop 

skirt : 
An' I reckon how I fiddled 'round two year and more 

that way 
Afore I got up spunk to ask my gal to name the 

day. 



48 MRS. Brady's conundrum 

I wonder, oh ! I wonder, if this the truth can be, 
That the comin' hoop skirt's bigger than the ones I 

lis' to see. 
An' if it's so, I want to live just long enough to glean 
How the young folks nowadays are goin' to tackle 

crinoline I 



MRS. BRADY'S CONUNDRUM. 



CHRISTMAS morning sees Mrs. Timothy Brady on 
her unsteady way down Washington Street. She 
is moving toward the residence of her long-time friend 
and gossip, Mrs. Patrick O'Grady, and carries on her 
arm a covered basket of suspicious appearance. Mrs. 
O'Grady has left home, and is moving irregularly up 
Washington Street. Thus it happens that the two 
women meet about a block away from the O'Grady 
mansion, and with this result : 

" Good mornin' till ye, Misthress O'Grady ; and a 
merry Christmas till ye !" 

" A bad mornin', bad cess, and a wurse Christmas 
till ye, Misthress Brady. Ye've been a-talkin' about 
me and mine, Misthress Brady, and Oi snaze at ye — 
Oi snaze in the face of ye, Misthress Brady !" 

" Och, murdther ! Is it in my face ye'U snaze ? 
Shure the nose of ye's long enough to snaze in the 
face ov me a whole block away !" 

" May the owld horned divil fly away wid me be- 
fore the risin' ov the blessed sun the morrow morn 
if Oi'd iver show the haid o' me outside ov me own 



MRS, Brady's conundrum 49 

dure if Oi had betune me oyes an' mouth no more ov 
a nose than Oi've got on the flat ev me hand. Go 
along wid yer two noshtrils for a nose !" 

'' Misthress 'Grady, I must say it's an illegant 
way ye have ov addreshin' a neighbor woman, who's 
the blesshed minit on her way to yer house wid a 
dthrap o' the beautiful schtuff in the bashket on her 
arrum, to be wishin' ov ye a merry Chrishtmas and 
all the blesshin's ov the Howly Church !" 

" But you've been talkin' about me and mine. 
Misthress Brady— ye've been talkin' about the dirthi- 
ness ov my family. Oi snaze at ye, Misthress Brady 
— Oi snaze in the face of ye !" 

'' Och, but it's bitter ye are wid me the day. Misth- 
ress 'Grady, an' me as innoshent of all harrum 
against ye or them belongin' wid ye as the babe 
unborn ! Wad I be this blesshed minit on me way 
to yer house wid me bottle in me bashket to wish 
ye the complemints of the saison if I'd been doin' ye 
dhirt?" 

" That's all foine to say, Misthress Brady, but ye 
talked about me and mine yistherday to my Ellen, 
and the puir child kem home a wapin' the eyes out 
ov her haid. Ye lied about us, Misthress Brady, 
whin ye said we didn't wash our hands an' face wanst 
a year, and Oi snaze at ye !" 

" Ha ! ha ! he ! he ! Why, ye'U be the death o' me, 
Misthress OXIrady, wid yer quare tuckins on ! Why 
what I said to Miss Ellen yistherday was but a bit 
joke I had schtudied up out av my own haid — a con- 
undrum like." 
4 



50 MRvS. Brady's conundrum 

"A conundrum was it? Conundrums that brak 
the heart av me choild ! Be off wid ye, and yer con- 
thunderums !" 

" Wait— lishten, Misthress O'Grad}^, till I exshplain 
what—" 

" Let go ov me shawl ! Be aff wid ye ! Oi snaze 
at ye, Misthress Brady !" 

" I'll not! What I said to Miss Ellen was a joke. 
Lishten till I tell ye. I was standin' at me front 
dure, when Miss Ellen kim along, lookin' as clane 
and rosy and swate as an angel — as she alius does, 
Misthress O'Grady — and we two schtood talkin' and 
jokin' a bit. We'd been schpakin' ov the grand fixins 
up for Chishtmas, whin I said : ' But afther all. Miss 
Ellen, there's hundreds ov hands and faces in this 
vary town that's not washed wanst in the whole 
year, and ye've got some o' thim in yer own house, 
Miss Ellen O'Grady !' " 

" Yis ; that was phwat ye said, Misthress O'Grady, 
ye ould faymale." 

" Wait, darlin'— wait, Misthress O'Grady, till 
I make me explanashion. Ye go aff jisht as 
Miss Ellen did, for she gave herself a fling and 
dashed away before I could say to her that it's the 
hands and faces ov the clocks and watches that are 
not washed wanst a year !" 

"The phwat?" 

" Shure the hands and faces ov the clocks and 
watches are niver washed, and I belave ye have a 
few o' thim in yer OAvn house, Misthress O'Grady?" 

" Oh ! take the fule choild ! Sure Oi'm ashamed 



THE FUNNY STORY 51 

ov her lack o' wit. Oi see the joke of it at wanst. 
And that was all ye said, Misthress Brady !" 

" It was ivery word I shpoke, Misthress 'Grady — 
ivery blesshed word !" 

" Och, miirdther now, look at all the disthress and 
throuble brought onto all in the house by that fule 
choild. Come roight home wid me now and Oi'U 
make Ellen O'Grady apoligize till ye. Phwat have 
ye in the bit bottle, Misthress Brady, dear?" 



THE FUNNY STORY. 



IT was such a funny story ! how I wish you could 
have heard it ; 
For it set us all a laughing from the little to the 
big. 
I'd really like to tell it, but I don't know how to 
word it. 
Though it travels to the music of a very lively jig. 

If Sally just began it, then Amelia Jane would giggle. 
And Mehitable and Susan put on their broadest 
grin. 
And the infant Zachariah on his mother's lap would 
wriggle 
And add a lusty chorus to the very merry din. 

It was such a funny story with its cheery snap and 
crackle, 
And Sally always told it with so much dramatic 
air 



52 THE FUNNY STORY 

That the chickens in the door-yard would begin to 
cackle, cackle, 
As if in such a frolic they were willing to take 
part. 

It was all about a — ha ! ha ! — and a ho ! ho ! ho ! 
well really ; It is he ! he ! he ! I never could begin 
to tell you half of the nonsense in it, for I just re- 
member clearly, it began with ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! and 
it ended with a laugh. 

But Sally, she could tell it, looking at you so de- 
murely, 
With a woe-begone expression that no actress 
would despise. 
And if you'd never heard it, why you would imagine 
surely. 
That you'd need your pocket handkerchief to 
wipe your weeping eyes ; 

When age my hair has silvered and my step has 
grown unsteady 
And the nearest to my visions are the scenes of 
long ago. 
I shall see the pretty picture and the tears may come 
as ready 
As the laugh did when I used to — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
and ho ! ho ! ho ! 



TAKEN ON TRIAL 53 



TAKEN ON TRIAL. 

Many years since a clergyman was the recipient of this droll but most 
comprehensive way of rewarding his services. 



DAY with dewy eve was blending, 
Clouds lay piled in radiant state, 
When a fine young German farmer 

Rode up to the parson's gate. 
Clinging to him on a pillion 

Was a maiden fair and tall, 
Blushing, trembling, palpitating — 

Smiling brightly through it all. 
Said the farmer: " Goot Herr Pastor, 

Marguerite und I vas coome 
Diesen evening to be married. 

Dhen mit her I makes mine home." 
Soon the nuptial tie was fastened ; 

Soon the kiss received and given. 
In that moment earth had vanished — 

They had caught a glimpse of heaven ! 
But the prudent German farmer 

First recalled his tranced wits ; 
Said : " Herr Pastor, here's von skilling ; 

Choost at present ve vas quits. 
But dake notice, if I finds her — 

Marguerite, mine frau, mine queen — 
Ven der year vas gone, is better 

As goot, vy dhen I coomes again." 
Twelve months sped with 'wildering fleetness 

Down Time's pathway past recall, 



54 TAKEN ON TRIAL 

Then there came a barrel rolling, 

Thundering through the parson's hall, 
With this note : " I send, Herr Pastor, 

Mit ein barrel of besten flour, 
Dhem five dollars — for mine Marguerite 

More better as goot is every hour. 
Dot small little baby is ein darling ! 

If dhey shtay so goot, yy dhen, 
Ven dot year vas gone, Herr Pastor, 

Quick, booty soon, you hear again." 
On the wedding march went singing, 

Sweeter, tenderer than before. 
At the year's end it came drumming 

Gayly at the parson's door, 
With this note : " Here vas five dollars 

Und ein barrel of besten flour ; 
Marguerite und dot dear baby 

More better as goot is — more and more, 
Now dot funny leetle baby 

Sucks de ink vots in mine pen. 
Makes me laugh — I dink, Herr Pastor, 

Next year I vill coome again." 
Down the years the pair went marching. 

Hand in hand, from dawn to dawn. 
Bearing each the other's crosses. 

Wearing each the other's crown. 
And from year to year came rolling, 

Straight into the parson's door. 
That " ein barrel of besten flour," 

Always " mit five dollars " more. 
They have passed their golden wedding, 

Children's children in their train. 



RIP VAN WINKLE 55 

Sweeter grows the wedding music. 

Gentler, tenderer the strain. 
Fainter now and like an echo 

From the bright, the better land, 
RestfuUy they wait and listen, 

Full of peace, for heaven's at hand ! 
Moral : Oh ! ye men and brethren 

Who to marry have a mind, 
Pay the parson, as, with trial, 

Bliss or misery you find. 

Fanny Barlow. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



Part I. 

The following scene is taken from the first act of the celebrated play 
of Rip Van Winkle. 

The language is slightly altered and adapted from the original, to make 
it more manageable as a monologue. 

The characters introduced are — 

Rip Van Winkle. 

Derrick Von Beekman, the villain of the play, who endeavors to get 
Rip drunk, in order to have him sign away his property to Von 
Beekman. 

Nick Vedder, the village inn-keeper. 

Scene. — The Village Inn. 

Present^ Von Beekman^ alone. 

Enter Rip, shaking off the Children, who are supposed 
to cling about him like flies to a lump of sugar. 

Rip (to the Children). — Say! hullo, dere, du Yacob 
Stein ! du kleine spitzboob. Let dat dog Schneider 



56 RIP VAN WINKLE 

alone, will you ? Dere, I tole you dat all de time, if 
you don'd let him alone he's goin' to bide you! 
Why, hullo, Derrick! how you was? Ach, my! 
Did you hear dem liddle fellers just now? Dey 
most plague me crazy. Ha! ha! ha! I like to 
laugh my outsides in every time I tink about it. 
Just now, as We was comin' along togedder, Schneider 
and me — I don'd know if you know Schneider my- 
self? Well, he's my dog. Well, dem liddle fellers, 
dey took Schneider, und — ha ! ha ! ha ! — dey — ha ! 
ha ! — dey tied a tin kettle mit his tail ! Ha ! ha ! 
ha! My gracious! of you had seen dat dog run! 
My, how scared he was ! Veil, he was a-runnin' an' 
de kettle was a-bangin' an' — ha ! ha ! ha ! you be- 
lieve it, dat dog, he run right betwixt me an' my 
legs ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! He spill me und all dem liddle 
fellers down in de mud togedder. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Von Beekman. — Ah ! yes ; that's all right, Rip ; very 
funny, very funny ; but what do you say to a glass 
of liquor. Rip ? 

Eip. — Well, now. Derrick, what do I generally say 
to a glass ? I generally say it's a good ting, don'd 
I ? Und I generally say a good deal more to what is 
in it, dan to de glass. 

Von B. — Certainly, certainly ! Say ; hallo ! there ! 
Nick Vedder, bring out a bottle of your best ! 

Rip, — Dat's right — fill 'em up. You wouldn't be- 
lieve it. Derrick, but dat is de first one I have had 
to-day. I guess maybe de reason is, I couldn't got it 
before. Ah! Derrick, my score is too big! Well, 
here is your good health und your family's — may 



RIP VAN WINKLE 57 

they all live long und prosper. [They drink.'] Ach ! 
you may well smack your lips, und go ah ! ah ! over 
dat liquor. You don'd give me such liquor like dat 
every day, Nick Vedder. Well, come on, fill 'em up 
again. Git out mit dat water, Nick Vedder, I don'd 
want no water in my liquor. Good liquor und water. 
Derrick, is just like man und wife, dey don'd agree 
well togedder — dat's me und my wife, any way. Well, 
come on again. Here is your good health und your 
family's, und may dey all live long und prosper. 

Nick Vedder. — That's right, Rip ; drink away, and 
" drown your sorrows in the flowing bowl." 

Rip. — Drown my sorrows? Ya! dat's all very 
well, but she don'd drown. My wife is my sorrow 
und you can't drown her ; she tried it once, but she 
couldn't do it. What, didn't you hear about dat, de 
day what Gretchen she like to got drownded? Ach, 
my ; dat's de funniest ting in de world. I'll tell you 
all about it. It was de same day what we got mar- 
ried. I bet you I don'd forgot dat day so long what 
I live. You know dat Hudson River what dey git 
dem boats over — well, dat's de same place. Well, 
you know dat boat what Gretchen she was a-goin' to 
come over in, dat got upsetted — ya ! just went righd 
by der boddom. But she wasn't in de boat. Oh ! 
no; if she had been in de boat — well, den, maybe 
she might have got drownded. You can't tell any- 
thing at all about a ting like dat ! 

Von B. — Ah ! no ; but I'm sure. Rip, if Gretchen 
were to fall into the water now, you would risk your 
life to save her. 



58 RIP VAN WINKLE 

Rip. — Would I? Well, I am not so sure about 
dat myself. When we was first got married ? Oh ! 
ya ! I know I would have done it den, but I don'd 
know how it would be now. But it would be a good 
deal more my duty now as it was den. Don'd you 
know, Derrick, when a man gets married a long time 
— mit his wife, he gits a good deal attached mit her, 
und it would be a good deal more my duty now as 
it was den. But I don'd know, Derrick. I am 
afraid if Gretchen should fall in de water now und 
should say, " Rip, Rip ! help me oud " — I should 
say, " Mrs. Van Winkle, I will just go home und tink 
about it." Oh! no. Derrick; if Gretchen fall in de 
water now she's got to swim, I told you dat — ha ! ha ! 
ha ! ha ! Hullo ! dat's her a-comin' now ; I guess 
it's bedder I go oud ! \_Exit EipJ^ 

Part II. 

Shortly after his conversation with Von Beekman, "Rip's wife catches 
him carousing and dancing upon the village green with the pretty girls. 
She drives him away in no very gentle fashion, and he runs away from 
her only to go and get drunker than before. Returning home after night- 
fall in a decidedly muddled ccmdition, he puts his head through the 
open window at the rear, not observing his irate wife, who stands in 
ambush behind the dothes-bars with her ever-ready broomstick, to give 
hira a warm reception ; but seeing only his little daughter Meenie, of 
whom he is very fond, and who also loves him very tenderly, Rip says : 

Meenie ! Meenie, my darlin' ! 
Meenie. — Hush-sh-h. 

(Shaking finger, to indicate the presence of her mother.) 
Rip. — Eh ! what's de matter ? I don'd see noting, 
my darlin'. 

Meenie.— ^Sh-sh-sh ! 



RIP VAN WINKLE 59 

Rip. — Eh ! what ? Say, Meenie, is de ole wild cat 
home? \_Gretchen catches him quickly by the hair.'] 
Oh ! oh ! say, is dat you, Gretchen ? Say, dere, my 
darlin', my angel, don'd do dat. Let go my head, 
wond you? Well, den, hold on to it so long what 
you like. \_Gretchen releases him.'] Dere, now, look 
at dat, see what you done — you gone pull out a 
whole handful of hair. What you want to do a ting 
like dat for? You must want a bald-headed hus- 
band, don'd you ? 

Gretchen. — Who was that you called a wild cat? 

Rip. — Who was dat I call a wild cat? Well, now, 
let me see, who was dat I call a wild cat? Dat must 
a' been de same time I come in de winder dere, wasn't 
it? Yes, I know, it was de same time. Well, now, 
let me see. [_Sucldenly.] It was de dog Schneider 
dat I call it. 

Gretchen. — The dog Schneider? That's a likely 
story. 

Rip. — Why, of course it is a likely story — aint he 
my dog? Well, den, I call him a wild cat just so 
much what I like, so dere now. \_Gretchen begins to 
weep.] Oh ! well ; dere, now ; don'd you cry, don'd 
you cry, Gretchen ; you hear what I said ? Lisden 
now. If you don'd cry, I nefer drink anoder drop 
of liquor in my life. 

Gh^etchen {crying). — Rip! you have said so 
so many, many times, and you never kept your 
word yet. 

Rip, — Well, I say it dis time, and I mean it. 

Gretchen. — Pdp ! if I could only trust you. 



60 RIP VAN WINKLE 

Rip, — You mustn't suspect me. Can't you see re- 
pentance in my eye ? 

Gretchen. — Rip, if you will only keep your word, I 
shall be the happiest woman in the world. 

Rip. — You can believe it. I nefer drink anoder 
drop so long what I live, if you don'd cry. 

Gretchen. — Rip ; how happy we shall be ! 
And you'll get back all the village. Rip, just as you 
used to have it ; and you'll fix up our little house so 
nicely ; and you and I, and our darling little Meenie, 
here — how happy we shall be ! 

Rip. — Dere, dere, now ! you can be just so happy 
what you like. Go in de odder room, go along mit 
you; I come in dere pooty quick. \^Exit Gretchen 
and Minnie.'] My ! I swore off fon drinkin' so many, 
many times, and I never kep' my word yet. ^Tak- 
ing out bottle.'] I don'd believe dere is more as one 
good drink in dat bottle, anyway. It's a pity to 
waste it ! You goin' to drink dat ? Well, now, if 
you do, it is de last one, remember dat, old feller. 
Well, here is your goot held, und — 

Enter Gretchen, suddenly, who snatches the bottle from 
him. 

Gretchen. — Oh ! you brute! you paltry thief! 

Rip. — Hold on dere, my dear, you will spill de 
liquor. 

Gretchen. — Yes, I will spill it, you drunken scoun- 
drel! [Throwing away the bottle.] That's the last 
drop you ever drink under this roof. 

Rip (slowly, after a moments silence, as if stunned by 
her severity), — Eh! what? 



RIP VAN WINKLE 61 

Gretchen. — Out, I say ! you drink no more here. 

Ri'p. — What? Gretchen, are you goin' to drive 
me away ? 

Gretchen. — Yes ! Acre by acre, foot by foot, you 
have sold everything that ever belonged to you for 
liquor. Thank Heaven this house is mine, and you 
can't sell it. 

Rijp {rapidly sobering., as he begins to realize the 
gravity of the situation). — Yours? yours? Ya! you 
are right — it is yours ; I have got no home. ^In 
broken tones, almost sobbingl But where will I go ? 

Gretchen. — Anywhere ! out into the storm, to the 
mountains. There's the door— never let your face 
darken it again. 

Rip. — What, Gretchen ! are you goin' to drive me 
away like a dog on a night like dis ? 

Gretchen. — Yes ; out with you ! You have no 
longer a share in me or mine. [^Breaking down and 
sobbing with the intensity of her passion."] 

Rip (very slowly and quietly, but with great inten- 
sity). — Well, den, I will go ; you have drive me away 
like a dog, Gretchen, and I will go. But remember, 
Gretchen, after what you have told me here to-night, 
I can never come back. You have open de door for 
me to go ; you will never open it for me to return. 
But, Gretchen, you tell me dat I have no longer a 
share here. [^Points at the child, who kneels crying at 
his feet.'] Good-bye [with much emotion], my darlin'. 
God bless you ! Don'd you nefer forgit your fader. 
Gretchen [with a great sob] I wipe de disgrace from 
your door. Good-bye, good-bye ! 

[Exit Rip into the storm.] 



62 " YOU GET UP ' 



"YOU GET UP!" 

From " Jests, Jingles, and Jottings." Permission of Geo. M. Allen 
Company. 



THERE'S lots of folks that has good times, 
There's lots that never does ; 
But the ones that don't like morning naps 

Is the meanest ever wuz. 
It's very nice to eat a meal 
With pie for its wind up ; 
'Taint half so sweet's th' nap pa spoils 
When he yells " you git up !" 

I'd rather lay in bed and snooze, 

Jest one small minit more 
In the morning, when the sunshine 

Comes a-creeping o'er the floor, 
Then to go to Barnum's circus or 

To own a bull-dog pup. 
The meanest thing pa ever said 

Wuz " Come now — you git up !" 

I like to go in swimming, 

And I like to play base-ball ; 
I like to fight and fly a kite, 

'N' I sometimes like to bawl ; 
But them thare forty winks of sleep 

Pa tries to interrup', 
Is better 'n' all. It breaks my heart 

When pa yells — " You git up !" 



THE CAKE WALK 63 

I'd stand the hurt and ache and pain 

And all the smart and itch 
Of having him turn the bed-clothes down 

To wake me with a switch, 
Ef he 'ud on'y jest go 'way 

And let me finish up 
The nap I started jest before 

He yelled out " You git up !" 

You bet, when I git growed up big, 

Es rich 'n' old as pa, 
'N' never haf to go to school. 

Nor work nor stand no jaw — 
I'll sleep all day and all night too. 

And only jest git up 
When I git 'nough sleep to suit me 

Ef all the world yells '^ You git up !" 

Joe Kerr. 



THE CAKE WALK. 



I'SE gwine to tell de story for you folks as wasn't 
dah, 
Ob de glittah an' de glory and de grace beyond com- 

pah ; 
De rooms war flushed wid fashing like a ground ob 

delight, 
Wid sunflowers an' peonies an' cabbage roses bright ; 
In view of all beholdahs, in a cornah, stood de 

prize, 
Wid frost an' wid icings to 'chant de rolling eyes. 



64 THE CAKE WALK 

De cake for which de couples was dere lubly forms 

to swing, 
And somewhere in de middle ob de cake, a golden 

ring, 
To hoop de chahmin' finger ob de empress ob de 

walk 
Whose prance was gwine to dust de eyes of all dat 

toed de chalk. 
De 'testants fell in order at de norf end ob de hall, 
De gazahs hedged de open track, a hush fell ober all, 
An' den, as music's luptuos swell rolled up aroun' de 

roof, 
Dey all wus ready den an' dere to shake each anxious 

hoof: 
De fust was Rufus Rider wid Sue Whiting on his 

ahm, 
An' de way dey engineered dere heels made all de 

cahpet wahm. 
But his strut was like a turkey's, an hers not quite 

dego. 
An' bofe retiahed, reft of praise, as Julius Csesar Snow 
Wid Seraphina Waterby came swimming down de 

aisle. 
Upon dere bres' a peck of flowahs, upon dere lips a 

smile. 
A buz of 'spressed 'miration chased dere trail until 

too late 
Jules tried de "Brummel hist" an' frew his gal all 

out ob gait. 
O Jinks ! de look she gub him an' de way she huffed 

aside, 



THE CAKE WALK 65 

As arter em, serene, an' wid de last Parisian glide, 
Scip Brown an' .Maud Pilaster, all de boahds wid joy 

did take, 
So 'scruciatin' dat 'twar said dey'd shuhly scoop de 

cake. 
So couple arter couple showed alon' de gleamin' 

lists, 
Dere South Fifth Avenue repos, an' Rue de Thomp- 
son twists, 
Dere dangle tails, an' wriggle hoops, an' all de latest 

shines, 
Whar shingle sole wid goose-neck arch in harmony 

combines. 
But, Lor ! dat warn't nuffin to de pow'ful 'citement 

when 
Yours truly tuk de amblin' groun' wid Miss Eugenia 

Wren. 
I only had to feel her wris' again' my bosom fon', 
To make me skim de cahpet like de drake upon de 

pon'. 
My pins war spry as crickets, an' my gunboats light 

as air, 
Only to watch de hebenly steps ob dat fair creachah 

dah. 
Wid one eye on de spell-bound frongs an' one upon 

de cake. 
She see-sawed down de middle wid de flounces in 

her wake, 
Jes similar to a steam tug dat leabes a trail behin'. 
An' when at las' she rested wid her shouldah hunched 
in mine, 
5 



66 THE GERMAN PROFESSOR ON HYPNOTISM 

An' ducked her face behin' her fan to hide de happy 

tears, 
You'd fought de house had bursted wid de ringin' 

shouts and cheahs. 
De votes was tuk ; de cake was ours ; we sliced it 

dere an' den. 
Out dropped de ring to deck the han' ob Miss 

Eugenia Wren, 
An' as I rubbed it on, she took my button-hole 

bokay. 
An' snuffed it for dem, all to show her 'preciation gay. 
Oh ! den dere war de 'citement ! Some jumped upon 

de cheahs ; 
Some histed umbrellas fur to shed de rainin' teahs, 
An' fin'ly closed wid blaze an' bluster, an' de bangin' 

ob de ban' ! 
O Lor' ! dere nebber were such times in all dis 

happy Ian' ; 
I'd radder be de hero ob a cake walk sich as dat 
Dan de proudest juke dat ebber wore a diamond for 

a hat. 



THE GERMAN PROFESSOR ON HYPNOTISM. 



" TJYBNODISM," the German professor said 
JL-I- thoughtfully, " vos a mendal disorder dot vos 
raging brincipally in der noosebapers. It vos a hy- 
pertrophy auf der imachination, undt der writers 
on mendal phleenomens vos first attacked. You 
mighd call ut a sort auf writer's cramp auf der prain. 



THE GERMAN PROFESSOR ON HYPNOTISM 67 

Der ingrediences peen made auf a fool undt a rascal. 
Mix thoroughly und set avay m a cool blace. Bvid 
one'well-authendicated case has been reported, undt 
dot vos told py a nodorious liar auf France. As a 
defence for der lawyers to sed up in murder drials it 
vould peen a pudding, as Schiller saidt ; but its brin- 
cipal use so far alreaty has peen confined to sheap 
novels undt skyentific makazines. Fife tousand 
years ago a Greek philosopher hybnodized a roosder- 
shicken mit a straight chalk-mark on der floor, undt 
now, in 1893, der skyentific beeples discofer dot you 
can hybnotize beeples auf dey aindt got as much 
prains as dot rooster. Nature got hard feelings 
towards a vacuum, undt auf you aindt got no intelli- 
gences auf your own you can absorp clot from some- 
pody else. It vos a choyful surbrise to some beeple's 
headts to get a mind inside auf dem py hybnodism 
auf dey didn't had some alreaty py natural. It's 
bedder, young mens, dot you cultivate some prains 
auf your own, aber you depend on hybnodism 
aber hypdermic inchections auf mendality. In der 
meantimes I can hybnodize dis class more expedi- 
tiously und skimultaneously mit a glub. It's bedder 
you enchoy dis pecooliar phleenomens vhile she is 
goin', pycause she vill soon go down der stream auf 
time pehind der blue glass, der roller-skate, Kock's 
lymph, Keeley's gold cure, undt pig-headed canes. 
You can now go der door outside undt^blay ball mit 
your feet. A. T. Worden. 



68 OVERHEARD AT THE ZOO 

OVERHEARD AT THE ZOO. 



ADDRESSED TO A DUDE. 



" TN conclusion," continued the ape, sadly, " permit 

A me to say things are woefully disproportioned. 

" There you are outside, and here I am inside. 

" Of course, I appreciate the fact that I am in a 
measure exotic, and so comprehend why I am caged ; 
but the thing that gets me is that you are permitted 
to have so much liberty. 

" And lastly — but excuse me " (zip ! whack ! ! 
bang ! ! !). " There, escaped as usual ; ever troubled 
that way ? — and lastly : 

** I see in you, although I dread to admit it, all the 
characteristics that make me desirable as a feature 
of this menagerie, with the exception that you have 
no tail. 

" There, now, don't be offended — you can't help it. 
Besides, I have a pointer for you that is valuable. 

" I will trouble you for another peanut. Thanks ! 

" And finally, my dear, hear — ahem ; you see that 
legend opposite? — ^ Don't trifle with the monkeys.' 
Well, as I sit normally, I read it just that way — 

* Don't trifle with the monkeys.' But suppose I 
hang head downward — thus — the legend reverses to 

* Don't monkey with trifles.' 

" That is all. 

" No ; one word more, and I am done. You see 
the point ; this world is too serious and matter-of- 



A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE 69 

fact to tolerate a waste of energy. If you have to 
concentrate, why, focus on something worth while : 
besides — 

" Excuse me ; there's another one of those blamed " 
(zip ! zap ! !) '' crawling down my neck " — (zip !). 
" Ah, ha, at last ! see there ? 

" Good-day." Charles M. Snyder. 



A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 

Frvim Nye & Riley's Railway Guide. Permission of F. T. Neely, Chicago, 

Publisher. 



I KIN hump my back and take the rain. 
And I don't keer how she pours ; 
I kin keep kindo' ca'm in a thunder storm, 

No matter how loud she roars ; 
I haint much skeered o' the lightnin', 

Ner I haint sich awful shakes 
Afeared o' cyclones — but I don't want none 
O' yer dad-burned old earthquakes ! 

As long as my legs keep stiddy, 

And long as my head keeps plum, 
And the buildin' stays in the front lot, 

I still kin whistle — some ! 
But about the time the old clock 

Flops off'n the mantel shelf. 
And the bureau skoots fer the kitchen, 

I'm a-goin' to skoot, myself I 

Plague take! ef you keep me stabled 
While any earthquakes is around ! — 



70 PAPA AND THE BOY 

I'm jist like the stock — I'll beller, 

And break fer the open ground! 
And I 'low you'd be as nervous, 

And in jist about my fix, 
When yer whole farm slides from inunder you. 

And on'y the mortgage sticks ! 

Now cars haint a-goin' to kill you 

Ef you don't drive 'crost the track ; 
Creditors never '11 jerk you up 

If you go and pay 'em back ; 
You kin stand all moral and mundane storms 

Ef you'll only just behave — 
But a' earthquake — well, if it wanted you, 

It 'ud husk you out o' yer grave ! 

James Whitcomb Riley. 



PAPA AND THE BOY. 



C! HARMING as is the merry prattle of innocent 
^ childhood, it is not particularly agreeable at about 
1 o'clock in the morning. There are young and 
talkative children who have no more regard for 
your feelings or for the proprieties of life than to 
open their eyes with a snap at 1 or 2 a. m., and to 
seek to engage you in enlivening dialogue of this 
sort. 

" Papa." 

You think you will pay no heed to the imperative 
little voice, hoping that silence on your part will 



PAPA AND THE BOY 71 

keep the youngster quiet ; but again that boy of three 
pipes out sharply : 

" Papa !" 

" Well ?" you say. 

" You 'wake, papa ?" 

" Yes." 

" So's me." 

" Yes ; I hear that you are," you say with cold 
sarcasm. " What do you w^ant?" 

" Oh ! nuffin." 

" Well, lie still and go to sleep then." 

" I isn't s'eepy, papa." 

" Well, I am, young man." 

" Is you ? I isn't — not a bit. Say, papa, papa ! 
If you was rich w^hat would yoil buy me?" 

" I don't know — go to sleep." 

" Wouldn't you buy me nuffin ?" 

" I guess so ; now you — " 

"What, papa?" 

" Well, a steam engine, may be ; now you go right 
to sleep." 

" With a bell that would ring, papa ?" 

" Yes, yes ; now you — " 

"And would the wheels go wound, papa ?' 

"Oh! yes (yawning). Shut your eyes now, and — " 

"And would it go choo, choo, choo, .papa ?" 

" Yes, yes ; now go to sleep." 

" Say, papa." 

No answer. 

" Papa !" 

"Well, what now?" 



72 PAPA AND THE BOY 

" Is you Afraid of the dark ?" 

"No "(drowsily). 

" I isn't either. Papa !" 

"Well?" 

" If I was wich I'd buy you somefin." 

"Would you?" 

"Yes; I'd buy you some ice cweam and some 
chocolum drops and a toof brush and panties wiv 
bwaid on like mine, and a candy wooster, and — " 

" That will do. You must go to sleep now." 

Silence for half a second, then 

" Papa ! papa !" 

"Well, what now?" 

" I want a jink." 

" No, you don't." 

" I do, papa." 

Experience has taught you that there will be no 
peace until you have brought the "jink," and you 
scurry out to the bathroom in the dark for it, knock- 
ing your shins against everything in the room as you 

go. 

" Now I don't want to hear another word from you 
to-night," you say, as he gulps down a mouthful of 
the water he didn't want. Two minutes later he 
says : 

" Papa !" 

" See here, laddie, papa will have to punish you 
if—" 

" I can spell ' dog,' papa." 

" Well, nobody wants to hear you spell at 2 o'clock 
in the morning." 



PAPA AND THE BOY 73 

" B-o-g — dog ; is that right ?" 

" No; it isn't. But nobody cares if — " 

"Then it's d-o-g, isn't it?" 

" Yes, yes ; now you lie right down and go to sleep 
instantly." 

" Then I'll be a good boy, won't I, papa ?" 

"Yes; you'll be the best boy on earth. Good 
night, dearie." • 

"Papa!" 

" Well, well ! What now ?" 

"Is I your little boy ?" 

" Yes, yes ; of course." 

" Some mans haven't got any little boys ; but you 
have, haven't you ?" 

" Yes." 

" Don't you wish you had two, free, nine, 'leben, 
twenty-six, ninety-ten, free hundred little boys ?" 

The mere possibility of such a remote and contin- 
gent calamity so paralyzes you that you lie speech- 
less for ten minutes, during which you hear a yawn 
or two in the little bed by 3^our side, a little figure 
rolls over three or four times, a pair of heels fly into 
the air once or twice, a warm, moist little hand 
reaches out and touches your face to make sure that 
you are there, and the boy is asleep with his heels 
where his head ought to be. 

J. L. Harbour. 



THAT LITTUL OKFUN BRAT 



THAT LITTUL ORFUN BRAT. 

From "Jests, Jingles, and Jottings." Permission of Geo. M. Allen 
Company. 



ONCT there was a little boy that hadn't any pa, 
An' it wouldn' have been half so bad ef he had 
had a ma ; 
But he didn't have no ma nor pa nor any other folks 
To spank him or to box his ears or 'buse him when 

he'd coax 
Fer things they tho't he didn't 'serve or ought to 

have at all ; 
An' that's the reason why he had to work when he 

was small. 
An' he didn't get nice things to eat to make him 

strong and fat, 
An' they never called him nothing 'cept 

" That littul orfun brat." 

An' thpy put him in the fields to work 'fore he was 

hardly born. 
So one day when he was hung-er-y, he stealed a ear 

of corn ; 
An' so they 'bused him terrible and sent him off to 

bed. 
To a room where great big ghostses keep a walking 

while they're dead. 
And the skellingtons and ghostess kep' a walking 

round the room, 
An' a-moaning and a-groaning in the dark night's 

awful gloom ; 



A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE 75 

But it didn't do 'em any good to cany on like that 
For I didn't seem to scare at all 

" That littul orfun brat." 

So every day when working he would steal a ear of 

corn, 
An' take it off into the woods an' hide it — in a horn ; 
An' after that he took to stealing wheat and oats and 

fodder 
(Said he, " Me mudder's dead— I never had no 

fadder"). 
And then he went to Congress and there stealed from 

Uncle Sam, 
An' when they told him of it said he " didn't give a 

clam." 
They scart him into being bad — he couldn't be 

blamed for that. 
When sent to Sing Sing you will find 

" That littul orfun brat." 
Joe Kerr. 



A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE. 



THE recent remarkable experience of Professor 
Von Schweinhund, of the Milwaukee Polytech- 
nic Institute, promised at one time to be of great 
interest to all philosophers, and especially to elec- 
tricians. Although this promise was not fulfilled, it 
is nevertheless true that the experience in question 
was quite unprecedented, and deserves the attention 
of all thinking^ men. 



76 A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE 

On the night of the 21st of December, Professor 
Von Schweinhund was spending the evening with a 

number of friends at the residence of Smith, 

Esq., discussing the philosophy of the unconditioned 
in connection with Milwaukee beer. At about 1 
o'clock A. M., it occurred to him that Mrs. Schw^ein- 
hund would be uneasy at his prolonged absence from 
home, and would undoubtedly sit up for him and 
welcome him with energetic hands in an exceedingly 
warm manner. He therefore took a final glass of 
beer, put on his capacious ulster, and bade the com- 
pany farewell. 

The night was exceedingly cold, and the pavement 
was unusually active in its motions. This, together 
with a weakness in the Professor's legs, bue to a 
severe cold in the head, led him to pause by a con- 
venient lamp-post to collect his thoughts. He rested 
for several minutes, unbuttoned his ulster to look at 
his watch, buttoned it up again, and summoning all 
his energies, prepared to resume his walk. To his 
great alarm he found that he could not move from 
the spot. An unseen and unknown force held him 
tight to the iron lamp-post, and his most frantic 
eftbrts could not enable him to release himself. 

His first impression was that he had been tied to 
the lamp-post by thieves while resting himself, but 
he could not discover the slightest trace of any 
rope, and was thus compelled to abandon the hypoth- 
esis. Soon he began to feel a strange sensation of 
something very cold in the region of his breast and 
abdomen. It was clear to him that a cold current was 



A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE 77 

running from his breast-bone downward, and, being 
a profound philosopher, he reasoned that as he felt this 
current in front it must really be in active operation 
somewhere else, and was, undoubtedly, running down 
his spinal column. After deep meditation he suddenly 
remembered that he had heard that certain streets in 
Milwaukee were soon to be lighted by the electric 
light. He looked upward at the lamp above his head 
and saw that it was not only extremely bright, l)ut that 
it seemed to be divided into three or four separate 
lamps. He now comprehended the mystery of his 
imprisonment. The lamp-post to which he was fas- 
tened was evidently one of those to which the elec- 
tric light had been applied. The electric current 
passing through the iron lamp-post had been switched 
off by the attraction of his spinal column, and was 
flowing through him, producing the sensation of ex- 
treme cold and fastening him with a force of several 
tons to the lamp-post. 

The horror of his situation now clearly stared Pro- 
fessor Von Schweinhund in the face. He saw that 
not only would he be held to the lamp-post until 
some one should come to his assistance and turn off 
the electric current, but that in all probability the 
electricity would gradually disintegrate his spinal 
marrow, and thus either kill him outright or reduce 
him to a miserable, spineless, gelatinous wreck. 
Moreover, he feared that the cold produced by the 
current would affect his heart, and, by disturbing his 
circulation, bring about a fatal result. In these cir- 
cumstances he lifted up his voice and howled for 



78 A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE 

help, but the silence of the midnight streets remained 
unbroken except by his agonized voice. 

About two o'clock two young men came down the 
street and, attracted by the Professor's cries, kindly 
stopped and listened to his story. In the most un- 
feeling manner they burst into a laugh and refused 
to give him any help. They even made rude re- 
marks concerning beer, and told him that the cool 
night air was good for him. Professor Von Schwein- 
hund lost his temper and addressed to them the 
strongest language contained in the German dic- 
tionary ; but they only laughed the more and went 
on their wicked and heartless way. 

It was nearly morning when a shapely policeman 
approached and, after listening to the Professor's 
pitiful story, said to him : '' See here, old man, if 
you're that drunk that you don't know you've but- 
toned your ulster round that lamp-post I guess I had 
better take you in." Light dawned on the mind of 
the philosopher as he listened to the policeman and 
glanced at himself in the glare of the bull's-eye lan- 
tern. There was a basis of truth in the policema^n's 
remarks. Professor Von Schweinhund had buttoned 
his ulster round the lamp-post, and had thus unwit- 
tingly made himself a prisoner. 

• The coat was promptly unbuttoned, and the Pro- 
fessor resumed his homeward walk. Now that he 
was free he rather regretted that his electrical hy- 
pothesis had proved to be false. Had it been true 
he could have written a powerful pamphlet on the 
subject, and would have been spared the necessity of 



COMING FROM THE PICNIC 79 

explaining to Mrs. Von Schweinhund that, (^ing to 
a mistake in connection with his ulster, he had been 
kept away from home mitil 3.30 a. m. 



COMING FROM THE PICNIC. 



HE stood on the track, young Jimmy, 
With hot and fevered breath, 
Waving his lantern madly, 

For he knew that an awful death 

Was in store for the happy people 
On the train just a mile away, 

Who had been to a woodlawn picnic 
That bright September day. 

A rock on the track behind him 
Made his forehead cold and damp ; 

That's why he feared for their safety — 
That's why he swung the lamp. 

The train was stopped, and the people 
Flocked all around young Jim, 

W^ho stood there, a little hero. 
Trembling in every hmb. 

And did they take up a collection 
For him for saving their lives, 

And load up a hat with money — 
Twenties and tens and fives ? 

And call him a brave young hero, 
And clap him upon the back, 



80 GEORGA WASHINGDONE 

As the sturdy young boy who had noticed 
The bowlder upon the track ? 

Nay, nay; nein, nein. I guess not; 

They took him upon the cars, 
And carried him to the city, 

And put him behind the bars. 

He was tried, convicted, and sentenced 

To eighteen months in jail. 
Ungrateful ? Oh ! no ; but they knew him — 

That trick of his was stale. 

Brandon Banner. 



GEORGA WASHINGDONE. 



GEORGA WASHINGDONE vos a vera gooda man. 
His fadda he keepa bigga place in Washing- 
done Street. He hada a greata bigga lot planta wees 
cherra, peacha, pluma, chesnutta, peanutta, an' banan 
trees. He sella to mena keepa de standa. Gooda 
mana to Italia mana was Georga Washingdone. He 
hata de Irish. Kicka dem vay lika dees. 

One tay wen litta Georga his son vos dessa high, 
lika de hoppagrass, he taka hees litta hatchet an' he 
beginna to fool around de place. He vos vera fresh 
vos litta Georga. Poota soon he cutta downa de 
cherra tree lika dees. Dat spoila de cherra cropa for 
de season. Den he goa round trea killa de banan 
an' de peanutta. 

Poota soon Georga's fadda coma rounda quicka 
lika dees. Den he lifta uppa hees fista looka lika 



MARSH SONG — SUNRISE 81 

big bunch a banan, an' he vos just goin' to giva litta 
Georga de smaka de snoota if he tolda lie. Hees eyes 
blaze lika dees. 

Litta Georga he say in hees minda — " I gitta 
puncha anyhow, so I tella de square ting." So he 
holda up hees litta handa lika dees, an' he calla 
" Tima !" 

Den he saya, " Fadda, I cutta de cherra tree weesa 
mia own litta hatchet!" 

Hees fadda he say, " Coma to de barn weesa me ! 
Litta Georga, I wanta speeka weesa you !" 

Den hees fadda cutta big club, an' he spitta hees 
handa, lika dees !" 

Litta Georga say, " Fadda, I could notta tella de 
lie, because I knowa you caughta me deada to 
rights !" 

Den de olda man he smila lika dees, an' he tooka 
litta Georga righta down to Wall Street, an' made him 
a present of de United States ! 



MARSH SONG— SUNRISE. 



OVER the monstrous, swashing sea, 
Over the Balderdash sea, 
The jay hawk wings its fluttering flight- 
The pelican greets the morning light — 
Antonio — where is he ? 

Over the gruesome, gruntling sea. 

Over the Brobdignag sea, 
Antonio came in the dead of night — 
6 



82 OVER BEHIND DER MOON 

Came like a jabberwock in its flight, 
And borrowed four dollars of me. 

Over the muddling, haggling sea, 

Over the Caliban sea, 
With four fair dollars come if you can ; 
I'm strapped — I'm broke — Antonio — Man 

Brother — come back to me ! 

Eugene Field. 



OVER BEHIND DER MOON. 

From "Jests, Jingles, and Jottings." Permission of Geo. M. Allen 
Company. 



-»-*Jl- I come like vone bad shillin', phon 

Out vere de clouds vet water vas spillin' — 

It's — over behind der moon. 

• 

I came phon a place called shadowland, 
Vere dere's neffer a sorrow on any hand. 
For de peebles are ghosts, you understand, 
Und its — over behind der moon. 

Dey neffer grew veary of life over dere — 
Dey know nuttings of trouble, or sorrow, or care — 
Und der vimmens dond bodder aboud what dey vear. 
It's — over behind der moon. 

De chentlemens dere are Apollos and such — 
Dey speag no lankwitch — not even de Dutch — 



OVER BEHIND DER MOON 83 

Do dey wed not for love but for money ? Not much ! 
Dot's — over behind der moon. 

In dis land of der shadows, der teeahter hats 
Of der ladies are smaller dan lace lamp mats ; 
Und Kepublicans dere are all Democrats — 
It's — over pehind der moon. 

Der police over dere are as chendle as lambs ; 
Der drinking men neffer acquire der James Jams ; 
Der wives never scold — dey are silent as clams — 
It's — over behind der moon. 

Der vimmins dere neffer deceif men nor flirt; 
Der leedle vones neffer cry out vhen dey're hurt; 
Dey are all rich as Wanderbild. Still I assert ; 
Dot it's — over behind der moon. 

Der ministers dere neffer take a vacation ; 
Der business men haf no base-ball recreation, 
Und lawyers oud dere all die of starvation — 
It's — over behind der moon. 

In dis land of der skies no vone effer dies ; 
Der ladies don'd powder, nopody tells lies, 
Und der merchants get rich, yet dey don'd atfertise. 
It's — over pehind der moon. 

Der Peebles don'd use umbrellas, und yet 
Dey go out in der rain und dey neffer get vet. 
No vone in dat country vas effer in debt. 
It's — over behind der moon. 



84 oh! promise me 

Vould you like to be oud in dis peautiful land, 
Vhere you live like a lord midoud turning your hand, 
Vhere all de surroundinks are lofely und grand 
Und dere's vonderful peebles on effery hand? 
Vhere dhey haf rabid transit? A navy veil manned? 
Vhere political peebles are peaceful und bland ? 
Vhere you nefFer get freckled or sunburnt or tanned ? 
Vhere der moosic beats Gilmore's or Kappa's brass 

band, 
Und your bvow is foheffer by anchel vings fanned? 
Veil — be choost like me ; und den pretty quick. 
You catch a bat cold — und you be pretty sick ; 
Und den, later on — perhaps pretty soon — 
You kick some buckets; und. biff! you go 

Over behind der moon. 

Joe Kerr. 



"OH! PROMISE ME." 

AFTER DE KOVEN. 
Suggested by the cold weather of January 1893. 



OH ! promise me that some day you and I 
We'll get ourselves together ; then we'll fly. 
We'll fly to a much warmer clime than this. 
Where we can sit on river banks and kiss ; 
On river banks where sunflowers always grow. 
And where we'll never have to think of snow. 
And where from icy fetters we'll be free. 
Oh I promise me ! Oh ! promise me ! 



THE SMALL BOY's LOQUITUR 85 

Oh ! promise me that you will hold my hand, 
This cold and clammy — chapped and chilly hand. 
And as you gaze into my watery eyes, 
Please tell me of that longed-for paradise 
Where the warm water always flows ! 
And we can dress in summer clothes. 
Instead of ice cream we'll take tea. 

Oh ! promise me ! Oh ! promise me ! 

Henry Firth Wood. 



THE SMALL BOY'S LOQUITUR. 



I HATE those pants that mother makes, 
And " leaves me room to grow ;" 
That's why they drag around my legs, 
That's why they wobble so. 

That's why the pockets at the side 

Are way down by the feet ; 
And the way I know the front from back, 

Is the patch that's on the seat. 

That's why they look so kind of queer ; 

I'm going to tell her so ; 
I hate those pants that mother makes 

With " lots of room to grow." 



86 THE ELUSIVE DOLLAR BILL 

THE ELUSIVE DOLLAR BILL. 



SOME things look mighty easy until you try them. 
The other morning as I left the house, my wife 
said : 

" Henry, I wish you would send one dollar to the 
office of the ' Children's Beacon Light,' and get the 
paper six months on trial for the children ; they 
send the loveliest oil painting to every subscriber." 

In the course of the day my wife's request came to 
my mind, and I accordingly wrote the necessary 
letter to the presiding genius of the aforesaid publi- 
cation, and then, of course, I had to enclose the 
dollar. 

Now I had numerous silver coin of the denomina- 
tion of one dollar about my person, but I had no 
promissory note of our esteemed relative. Uncle Sarii, 
for that amount. I would just step down-stairs, and 
get a bill in exchange for a silver dollar at one of the 
stores. 

The first store I entered was a grocery store. A 
gazelle-eyed clerk with a protruding forehead was 
doing up a dollar's worth of light-brown sugar and 
two bars of soap for a benevolent-looking old lady 
with a large basket. 

" May I trouble you to exchange a dollar bill for a 
silver dollar ?" I asked in that bland tone that has 
made our family famous in legislative halls. He 
looked right through me at the stove, and said 
pleasantly : 



THE ELUSIVE DOLLAR BILL 87 

" Haintgotany — do you prefer this mottled or the 
Imperial clear soap, Mrs. Jawson?" 

Then I tried a dry-goods store. The girl, dressed 
in the blue jersey, with the blonde bangs, to whom I 
preferred my request, referred me with an imperious 
wave of her jeweled hand to the cashier. To that 
mighty potentate I said : 

" May I trouble you to exchange a dollar bill for 
a silver dollar ?" 

" Naw ; we don't keep silver dollars for dollar 
bills." 

" But I want a dollar bill for a silver dollar." 

" Oh ! Well, we don't keep them, either." 

I did not insist upon it. 

I then tried, without success, three dry-goods 
emporiums, six retail grocery stores, four confection- 
ers, two banks, and a cigar store. The majority of 
the tradesmen I came in contact with would look at 
me in a sad, reproachful, half-suspicious sort of a 
way, when I made my want known, that, had I been 
less determined, would have melted me into buying 
something I didn't want at almost every store. 

At the cigar store I quailed. The young man who 
was perusing the pink columns of the *^ Police Gaz- 
ette " at the back end of the store came forward so 
promptly when I rattled my dollar on the show-case, 
and with such an imploring " strong or mild " look 
on his ingenuous countenance that my heart was 
touched. I do not smoke — it makes me sick and 
gives me the heart-burn — but I said, calmly : 

" Give me twenty-five cents' worth of those in the 
corner — those with the red paper belts on." 



88 THE ELUSIVE DOLLAR BILL 

I felt homeless and alone in the world ; I would 
have paid double the price of admission just then to 
have seen the face of a friend ; but though I have 
lived in this city for many years, not a familiar face 
could I see. I was about to depart in sadness and a 
car to my office, which I had left a mile behind (it 
may seem queer that I did not leave my office in 
front of me where I could watch it, but I did not), 
when I saw the smiling countenance of a very short 
and very wide German gentleman, standing across 
the street at the door of his lager beerery. I am 
very impulsive, and my impulses at once started me 
across the street in his direction. 

Here, I thought is a man and a brother, a retailer 
of malt and spirituous beverages ; and perhaps — 
stranger things have happened — -he has a paper dol- 
lar in his till. By the time I had thought all that 
out with my customary care I was in hailing dis- 
tance of him ; but I didn't hail him ; I don't know 
how to hail. I only said : " How do you do, sir ?" 
He looked at me with a calm contemplative gaze and 
said: " Wegates !" 

At the termination of this conversation we both 
felt better. I could smile at my desolation of a few 
moments ago. Things, as many things as I could 
see, began to assume a brighter hue. I would make 
another effort to get that dollar. 

" I said : '' Mr. Schlieffenheimer (that was the most 
of his name), do you happen to have a dollar bill in 
the drawer there?" 

" Nn-nn-n-mm-m-hah ?" remarked Mr. Schliffen- 
heimer, pleasantly. 



THE ELUSIVE DOLLAR BILL 89 

" Have you got a dollar bill in your money 
drawer?" Again this undeserved look of distrust. 

" Veil, und vot if I haf ?" queried this portly 
Ganymede. 

" Why, you see, I have been looking for one for 
the past two hours ; I want to use one." 

" Veil ! mein gracious ! You t'ink I lets sompodies 
use mein moneys, eh ? Vot you take me for ?" 

" But you don't understand me. I want you to 
give me a dollar bill, paper money, you know, for 
this silver dollar." 

Mr. S. became needlessly excited at this point: 
" Of you don'd leaf mein blace mit your gonfidence 
skin games, I ring der batrol vagon up mit you." 

By the way Mr. Schlieffenheimer's eyes snapped I 
judged he was prepared to execute this threat. As a 
last desperate chance I said, with as much impres- 
sive solemnity as I could muster : " My friend, I 
will give you these two silver dollars for a one-dollar 
bill." 

He spoke not, but the energetic manner in which 
he reached for the bung-starter was so suggestive 
of an intention to do me bodily harm that I retreated 
toward the door. Mr. S. followed, and in a choice 
selection of some of the most inelegant but forcible 
epithets, from both the German and the English 
languages, and with the most appalling fluency, gave 
me to understand that I would better exercise my 
nefarious calling in some other place than his ; and 
as I backed to the door I was met by a large, red- 
nosed, navy-blue, brass-buttoned policeman who said : 



90 UNAWARES 

'' Now look here, cully, I've been watchin' you try to 
work your little game long enough, 'n' if you make 
any more breaks on my beat you go in ; now you 
hear me !" I heard him. Perhaps I Jooked like a 
confidence man then ; I know I felt like one. I left 
the scene of the encounter — it's probably there yet. 

What's that? Did I finally get one? Yes, I did. 
My wife found those three cigars in my vest pocket 
that night, and with tears in her eyes said she had 
known for some time that I was keeping a secret 
from her ; but she never would have supposed that I 
had contracted that filthy habit. Of course I had to 
explain how the nasty things came into my posses- 
sion, but the only terms under which she agreed to 
be convinced were that I should give her fifteen dol- 
lars with which to purchase a mink boa. 

Implicit faith in me was cheap at any price, and I 
gave her the money ; and in that cute little alliga- 
tor's skin wallet her brother William gave me last 
Christmas I found the object of my afternoon's 
disastrous quest — a paper dollar. 

H. L. Wilson. 



UNAWARES. 



From "'Jests, Jingles, and Jottings." Permission of Geo. M. Allen 
Company. 



ONCE they was a man without no hairs ; 
And his head was shiny and smooth, 
Just like a egg that's fresh from the layers; 
And his mouth only had one tooth. 



UNAWARES 91 

And some wicked, wicked boys met this poor old man 
And they telled him to " Go up, bald head/' 

But they didn't see the bears, comin' on 'em una- 
wares, 
So now the bad boys is dead. 

And at a'other time, some Philistine folks, 

'At lived where Samson did, 
Was hotty and was proud and was always makin' 
jokes 

'Bout the Samson's family kid. 
So what did Samson do to bring 'em up to time, 

But hit 'em with a jaw-bone on the head ! 
And that was worse than bears comin' on 'em una- 
wares. 

For now the bad folks is all dead. 

And once they was a man called Jonah for short, 

That wouldn't do no work for the Lord ; 
And he tumbled off a boat 'bout a mile from port. 

And got svfallowed by a whale for reward. 
But he tasted awful bad and it made the "^oor whale 
sick. 

So he landed poor Jonah on his head. 
And they wasn't any bears comin' on 'em unawares, 

But Jonah and the whale both is dead. 

And they was another man named Dan-i-yell, 

That was much too good for to eat ; 
For they throwed him in a den where some lions 
was — 

But then Danny was the wrong kind of meat. 



92 A RURAL REMOMSTRANCE 

Tor the lions smelt around, on the floor and on the 
ground, 

An' they didn't touch his feet nor his head. 
But if any big bears had come on 'em unawares, 

You bet the big bears would be dead. 

So if any little girls or any little boys, 

Or folks that's growed up big, 
Don't stop a bein' bad and a-makin' so much noise. 

And pertending they don't care a fig — 
They'll find that after awhile, jest as like as not, 

Maybe when they jest went to bed, 
They'll be some awful bears comin' on 'em unawares, 

And then the bad folks'U be dead. 

Joe Kerr. 



A RURAL REMONSTRANCE. 



OLD Farmer Winrow raised his head 
And laid aside his paper ; 
His spectacles slid down his nose 
And rested on its taper. 

" Wall, I declar' !" he cried aloud, 
" This beats the very dickens ! 
They've gone and shifted round the time, 
As sure as chicks is chickens. 

" I never heerd, upon my word. 
Of anything to beat it ; 
I r'ally think them city folks 
Hev got their minds unseated. 



A RURAL REMONSTRANCE 93 

" An' what is this I read in here ? 
Great Csesar ! Save the flock ! 
They're goin' to stretch the hours out 
To twenty-four o'clock !" 

The worthy farmer scratched his ear 

In deepest meditation ; 
He gazed perplexed upon the clock 

With mental agitation. 

" For sixty years I've plowed along 
As reg'lar as the sun, sir, 
And used the good old-fashioned time 
Without a hitch, by gum ! sir. 

" But times hev undergone a shift, 
If I be not mistaken, 
An' some new cranks try every day 
To give this world a shakin'. 

^' They string my fields with telephones, ^ 

Or some new-fangled trashes ; 
They send out one-wheeled railway trains 
To everlastin' smashes. 

"An' yet they be not satisfied 

With the customs they hev slander'd, 
But they must go an' 'riginate 
A new an' fresh ' time standard.' 

" I r'ally shouldn't be surprised, 
Nor my old old woman, either, 
If them thar city lunatics 
Should drop time altogether. 



94 A TALE OF THE EAST (SIDE) 

^'An some fine day, when we arise 
Our daily race to run, 
We'll find that while we've been asleep 
They've turned around the sun ! 

" But r'ally, now, I didn't think, 
(Nor my old Sal, I reckons), 
They'd go and ste^l from Father Time 
Some fifty score of seconds. 

"Ah ! now I see theer little game ! 
As I'm a calculator 
They've backed their clocks a quarter-hour 
To sleep a little later." 

Boston Courier. 



A TALE OF THE EAST (SIDE). 



IN the rushing* rue de Chatham 
Where they clothe and shoe and hat 'em 
In dem wery latest fash'n, loud and cheap, 
Is dot shtore of Ike and Jacob, 
Un' no udder shop can rake up 
Such a hook and counter 'sortment like dey keep. 

Walks inside a wild-eyed stranger — 

Maybe cowboy, maybe granger — 
Buys a rainbow-tinted tie for eighty cents. 

Jakey hastens to deliver 

In a fierce, perspiring shiver — 
See? — before the sucker customer relents. 



BILL 95 

" No, I want no shiny collar ; 
Here, old Skewdix, is a dollar. 
I must hurry; keep the change." And out he lit. 
'Twas too much for Jake. Ike found him 
Faint and limp as they surround him ; 
Also found it was a case of — counter fit. 

John Albro. 



BILL. 



HE was six years old, and his name was Bill. I 
took him up on my knee, and asked him if he 
would like to hear the story of the flood, and he said 
he would. 

" Well, Bill, once there was a man named Noah, 
who—" 

" Noah what ?" 

" Simply Noah. He had no last name." 

" How did they find him in the directory, then ?" 

" There were no directories. Noah lived a great 
many years ago, and — " 

" Didn't live before the Centennial, did he ?" 

" Yes, thousands of years before." 

" Did he wear pants ?" 

" I don't know. He lived in a country where — " 

^^ Somewhere in Indiana, wasn't it?'' 

" In Asia Minor, where everybody was very wicked 
excepting Noah and his three sons." 

"Were they all boys?" 

"Yes and— '^ 



96 BILL 

" Could they whistle on their fingers ?" 

" And Noah knew there was going to be a flood." 

" In Rancocas Creek ?" 

" No ; I'll tell you directly if you'll wait." 

" Did it sweep away the mill-dam ?" 

" And so Noah and his sons went to work to build 
a huge boat, which — " 

" A steamboat?" 

" No ; of course not. Which they called an ark." 

" What did they call it that for ?" 

"And while they were building it numbers of 
people came to see them, and — " 

" Reporters, were they ?" 

" And laughed at them for supposing there would 
be a flood." 

" Did you say it wasn't in the Rancocas?" 

" But they went on building the boat, without 
minding the people, so that — " 

" Had she a jib-boom ?" 

" Oh ! I don't know. And so one day it began to 
rain, very, very hard." 

" I know what you're going to say. Noah left his 
umbrella at home." 

" Oh ! pshaw ! They had no umbrellas in those 
days." 

" No gum shoes either ?" 

"And it rained, and rained, and rained, and 
rained, until — " 

"What rained?" 

" So that the water began to cover the whole sur- 
face of the ground." 



i 



BILL 97 

" Why didn't it run into the sewers ?" 

" So Noah and his family went into the ark, and 
took all kinds of animals with them, and — " 

^- Not spiders ?" 

" Yes, spiders." 

" And eels, too ?" 

"Yes, and— " 

" But not potato bugs ?" 

" I guess so." 

" And pelicans ?" 

" Oh ! yes, everything." 

" What did he take in bedbugs for?" 

" Oh ! do hush ! You ask too many questions." 

" Did the billy-goat butt Noah's boys ?" 

" So when they were all in, Noah shut the door 
and the ark floated." 

" Was the whale towed behind ? Where did he 
keep the tadpoles ?" 

" And it rained harder and harder all the time." 

" Was there a Mrs. Noah ?" 

" Of course." 

"Well, how did she dry her washing when it 
rained ?" 

" And so the ark sailed along upon the water for 
many days." 

" Did they row it ?" 

" No." 

" What did Noah and the boys do ?" ^ 

" Nothing that I know of." 

" Maybe they fished off* the side of the boat." 

" Very likely they did." 
7 



98 " DANNY DEKVER " UP TO DATE 

"What did they fish for?" 

^' To catch fish, of course." 

" Did they get any ?" 

" Oh ! I reckon so." 

" You think they really caught some ?" 

" Oh ! certainly. And I think it's not worth 
while telling a story to such an inquisitive boy as 
you." 

" Well, now, how could they catch fish outside, 
when you said that they took all the animals of 
every kind into the ark with them ?" 

" Why, you see, Bill—" 

" It's outrageous !" said Bill, jumping off of my 
knee, and moving toward the door. " I believe 
you're a scandalous story-teller, and that you made 
up the whole thing. I'm going to call mother, 
and tell her you're setting me a bad example. 
Father'U make the fur fly off of you when he comes 
home." 

Then Bill flitted up-stairs, and I went away. I 
am beginning now to catch a glimpse of some of the 
difficulties in educating youth. 

Max Adeler. 



" DANNY DEEVER " UP TO DATE. 



"TTTHAT is your bugle blowin' for?" said Rudyard 

V T to the maid. 
" To turn you out, to turn ^ou out," the colored serv- 
ant said. 



" DANNY DEEVER " UP TO DATE 99 

" What makes you look so pale and white ?" said 

Rudyard to the maid. 
" I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the colored 

servant said. 
For they're up with Baby Kipling, you can hear 

the swear words play ; 
The family's in a hollow square — they're up with 

her to-day. 
She's driven of the neighbors off for seven blocks 

away. 
And they're up with Baby Kipling in the mornin'. 

"What makes 'er breathe so loud an' hard ?" said 

Rudyard-on-parade. 
" It's gotter cold, it's gotter cold," the colored servant 

said. 
" What makes 'er break out with the rash ?" said 

Rudyard-on-parade. 
" A touch of heat, a touch of heat," the colored serv- 
ant said. 
For they're up with Baby Kipling, daddy's marchin' 

her around ; 
An' they've 'aited Baby Kipling, while her daddy's 

toe is bound. 
An' she'll yowl in 'alf a minute like a homeless, 

friendless 'ound — 
Oh ! they're up with Baby Kipling in the mornin'. 

" 'Er cot is right 'and cot to mine ?" said Rudyard- 
on-parade. 

" She aint a-sleepin' much to-night," the colored 
servant said. 



100 " DANNY DEEVER " UP TO DATE 

" I give 'er pap a score of times," said Rudyard-on- 

parade. 
" She's weepin' bitter tears all right," the colored serv- 
ant said. 

They're up with Baby Kipling, you must walk 'er 
round the place. 

For there's somethin' on 'er stomach, and there's 
wrath upon her face. 

And she's 'owling like a Feejee to 'er quiet dad's 
disgrace — 

While they're up with Baby Kipling in the mornin'. 

"What makes 'er grow black in the face? says 

Rudyard-on-parade. 
" She's yelpin' so she's lost 'er wind " the colored 

servant said. 
"What's that a-breakin' over 'ead?"said Rudyard- 
on-parade. 
" It is the welcome rosy morn," the colored servant 
said. 
For they're done with Baby Kipling; papa now 

can run an' play. 
She's peacefully a sleepin' an' the doctor's gone 

away. 
An' tootsey, you can bet you'll drive your dad to 

drink to-day. 
After bein' up with baby in the mornin'. 



THE ROYAL BUMPER DEGREE 101 

THE ROYAL BUMPER DEGREE. 



"QAY, are you a Mason, or a Nodfellow, or any- 
^ thing ?" asked the bad boy of the grocery man, 
as he went to the cmnamon bag on the shelf and took 
out a long stick of cinnamon bark to chew. 

" Why, yes ; of course I am. But what set you to 
thinking of that ?" asked the grocery man, as he went 
to the desk and charged the boy's father with half a 
pound of cinnamon. 

" Well, do the goats bunt when you nishiate a fresh 
candidate ?" 

" No, of course not. The goats are cheap ones 
that have no life, and we muzzle them, and put pil- 
lows over their heads, so they can't hurt anybody,'' 
says the grocery man, as he winked at a brother Odd 
Fellow who was seated on a sugar barrel, looking 
mysterious. " But why do you ask ?" 

" Oh ! nuthin', only I wish me and my chum had 
muzzled our goat wdth a pillow. Pa would have 
enjoyed his becoming a member of our lodge better. 
You see pa had been telling us how much good the 
Masons and Odd Fellers did, and said we ought to 
try to grow up good so we could jine the lodges when 
we got big, and I asked pa if it w^ould do any hurt 
for us to have a play lodge in my room and purtend to 
nishiate, and pa said it wouldn't do us any hurt. He 
said it would improve our minds and learn us to be 
men. So my chum and me borried a goat that lives 
in a livery stable and carried him up to my room 



102 THE ROYAL BUMPER DEGREE 

when pa and ma was out riding, but the goat blatted 
so we had to tie a handkerchief around his nose, and 
his feet made such a noise on the floor that we put 
some baby's socks on his feet. Well, sir, my chum 
and me practiced with that goat until he could 
bunt a picture of a goat every time. We borried a 
buck beer sign from a saloon man and hung it on 
the back of a chair, and the goat would hit every 
time. That night pa wanted to know what we were 
doing up in my room, and I told him we were play- 
ing lodge and improving our minds, and pa said that 
was right, there was nothing that did boys of our age 
half so much good as to imitate men and store by 
useful noUidge. Then my chum asked pa if he 
didn't want to come up and take the grand bumper 
degree, and pa laffed and said he didn't care if he 
did, just to encourage us boys in innocent pastime 
that was so improving to our intellex. We had shut 
the goat up in a closet in my room, and he had got 
over blatting so we took off* the handkerchief, and he 
was eating some of my paper collars and skate 
straps. 

" We went up-stairs and told pa to come up pretty 
soon and give three distinct raps, and when we asked 
him who comes there he must say ' a pilgaric who 
wants to join your ancient order and ride the goat.' 
Ma wanted to come up too, but we told her if she 
come in it would break up the lodge, 'cause a woman 
couldn't keep a secret, and we didn't have a side 
saddle for the goat. Say, if you never tried it, the 
next time you nishiate a man in your Mason lodge 



THE ROYAL BUMPER DEGREE 103 

you sprinke a little kyan pepper on the goat's beard 
just afore you turn him loose. You can get three 
times as much to the square inch of goat. You 
wouldn't think it was the same goat. Well, we 
got all fixed, and pa rapped and w^e let him in and 
told him he must be blindfolded, and he got on his 
knees a-laffing and I tied a towel around his eyes, 
and then I turned him around and made him get 
down on his hands also, and then his back was right 
toward the closet door, and I put the buck beer sign 
right against pa's clothes. He was laffing all the 
time, and said we boys were as full of fun as they 
made 'em, and we told him it was a solemn occasion 
and we wouldn't permit no levity, and if he didn't 
stop laffing we couldn't give him the grand bumper 
degree. Then everything was ready, and my chum 
had his hand on the closet door and some kyan pep- 
per in his other hand, and I asked pa in a low bass 
tone if he felt as though he wanted to turn back, or 
if he had nerve enough to go ahead and take the 
degree. I warned him that it was full of dangers, as 
the goat was loaded, and told him he yet had time 
to retrace his steps if he wanted to. He wanted the 
whole business, and told us to go on with the men- 
agerie. Then I said to pa that if he had decided to 
go ahead, and not to blame us for the consequences, to 
repeat after me the following : ^ Bring forth the Royal 
Bumper and let him bump !' Pa repeated the words 
and my chum sprinkled the kyan pepper on the goat's 
mustache,, and he sneezed once and looked sassy, and 
then he see the lager beer goat raring up, and he 



104 THE ROYAL BUMPER DEGREE 

started for it just like a cow-catcher, and blatted. Pa 
is real fat, and he knew he had got hit, and he grunted 
and said, ' What are you boys doin ?' and then the 
goat gave him another degree, and pa pulled off the 
towel and got up and started for the stairs, and so 
did the goat, and ma was at the bottom of the stairs 
listening, and when I looked over the banisters pa 
an' ma and the goat were all in a heap, and pa was 
yelling murder and ma was screaming fire, and thct 
goat was blatting and sneezing and bunting, and the 
hired girl came into the hall and the goat took after 
her, and she crossed herself just as the goat struck 
her and said, ' Howly mother, protect me !' and went 
down-stairs the way we boys slide down-hill, with 
both hands on herself, and the goat rared up and 
blatted, and pa and ma went into their room and 
shut the door, and then my chum and me opened 
the front door and drove the goat out. The minister 
who comes to see ma every three times a week was 
just ringing the bell, and the goat thought he wanted 
to be nishiated too, and gave him one for luck, and 
then went down the sidewalk blatting and sneezing, 
and the minister came into the parlor and said he 
was stabbed, and then pa came out of his room with 
his suspenders hanging down, and, as he didn't know 
the minister was there, he said cuss words, and ma 
cried and told pa he would go to the bad place sure, 
and pa said he didn't care, he would kill that cussed 
goat afore he went, and I told pa the minister was in 
the parlor and he and ma went down, and while they 
were talkin' my chum and me adjourned the lodge, 



MINE MODER-IX-LAW 105 

and I went and stayed with him all night, and I 
haven't been home since ; but I don't believe pa will 
lick me, 'cause he said he wouldn't hold us responsi- 
ble for the consequences. He ordered the goat his- 
self, and we filled the order, don't you see ? Well, I 
guess I will go and sneak in the back way and find 
out from the hired girl how the land lays. She 
won't go back on me 'cause the goat was not loaded 
for hired girls. She just happened to get in at the 
wrong time. Good-bye, sir. Remember and give 
your goat kyan pepper in your lodge." 

Peck's Sun. 



MINE MODER-IX-LAW. 

From Dialect Ballads. Harper & Bros., N. Y., Publishers. 



DHERE vas many qveer dings in dis land ofi' der 
free 
I neffer could qvite understand ; 
Der beoples dhey all seem so deefrent to me 

As dhose in mine own faderland. 
Dhey gets plenty droubles, und indo mishaps 

Mitoudt der least bit of a cause ; 
Und vould you pelief it ? dose mean Yangee chaps, 
Dey fights mit dheir moder-in-laws ? 

Shust dink oflF a vhite man so vicked as dot ! 

Vy not gife der oldt lady a show ? 
Who vas it gets oup ven der nighdt it vas hot, 

Mit mine babv, I shust like to know ? 



106 VOICES OF THE NIGHT 

Und dhen in der vinter ven Katrine vas sick 
Und der mornings vas shnowy und raw. 

Who made rightd avay oup dot fire so qvick ? 
Vhy, dot vas mine moder-in-law. 

Id vas von off dhose voman's righdts vellers I been 

Dhere vas noding dot's mean about me ; 
Vhen der oldt lady vishes to run dot masheen, 

Vhy, I shust let her run id, you see. 
Und vhen dot sly Yawcob vas cutting some dricks, 

(A block off der oldt chip he vas, yaw !) 
Ef she goes for dot chap like some dousand off bricks, 

Dot's all righdt ! She's my moder-in-law. 

Veek oudt und veek in, id vas alvays der same, 

Dot voman vos boss off der house ; 
Budt, dhen, neffer mindt ! I vos glad dot she came, 

She vas kind to mine young Yawcob Strauss. 
Und vhen dhere vas vater to get vrom der spring 

Und firevood to shplit oup und saw 
She vas velcome to do it. Dhere's not anyding 

Dot's too good for mine moder-in-law. 

Charles Follen Adams. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

From •* Jests, Jingles, and Jottings." Permission of Geo. M. Allen 
Company. 



DO you ever lie awake at night, 
And think — and think — and think 
Of a hundred thousand foolish things 
Which " hang 'round " midnight's brink ? 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 107 

And do you at the same time hear 

The hollow gurgling gurg 
Of your stationary Avash-stand, 

Like a bungling burglar's burg — 
While the latticed window-shutters flap 

The sashes (full of pane) 
And the myriad voices of the night 

Talk nonsense at your brain ? 
You don't? I do. 

And the ghostly, gruesome groaning 

And the melancholy strain, 
Of that measly, mourning, moaning, 

Gurgling, guzzling water-main, 
Wrap an eerie, iree, ickery, fillacy, 

Fallacy sort of sound 
In the meshes of the midnight, 

^Vhich entwine me round and round. 
My flesh creeps and all in heaps 
Finally sleeps ; 
While the melancholy moaning. 
And the hungry, hollow groaning 

Of the stand, 
Keep my slumbrous soul a-soaring 
Up and down a raging, roaring 
Night-mare land. 

Joe Kerr. 



108 NO HOPE FOB LITERATURE 

NO HOPE FOR LITERATURE. 

From ** Back Country Poems." 



AT the debatin' club last night we all discussed 
a cure 
Fer the debilitated state of English lit'rachure. 
^' The stuff that's writ fer folks," I said, " don't move 
'em and delight 'em, 
Because the folks who write the things don't know 
enough to write 'em. 

" The folks who write, they stuff their heads in some 

big 'cyclopedy, 
Wich aint no place fer mental food to feed the 

poor an' needy. 
They're huntin' on an em'ty shelf, like poor old 

Mother Hubbard, 
An' go right by the open door of Mother Natur's 

eupboarb 

" They crawl into some lib'ery, far from the world's 
inspection, 

Bury themselves in books beyond all hope of res- 
urrection ; 

Then cry out from their tombs, in w'ich no sun 
nor star can glisten, 

An' weep because the livin' worl' don't fin' no time 
to listen." 

Then Elder Pettengell he asked, " Can you suggest 

a cure 
For the debilitated state of English literachure ?" 



NECKS — A boy's COMPOSITION 109 

"Aint none ; our authors' ignorance is far too dark 
for lightin', 
While we who know enough to write haint got no 
time for writin'." 

S. W. Foss. 

♦ 

NECKS— A BOY'S COMPOSITION. 



NECKS is a very convenient things to have, but 
frogs and toads don't need them 'cept bull-frogs 
when they give concerts in the middle of the night, 
when they is very useful. Turtles is very savin' of 
theirn and s waller them to get them out of the way. 
Men have to have necks too, or they couldn't be 
swung up on galluses to amuse women and little 
boys at hangin' bees. A giraffe has a neck a-growin' 
out of the upper end of his body, but it is smaller at 
the top and grows long and slim so as to make things 
taste good all the way down — down — which is differ- 
ent from snakes, 'cause snakes have necks all the 
way down to the ends of their tails, and is smaller at 
the bottom and can swaller toads and things without 
chew — chewin' them, but it takes a good while to do 
it. Roosters and ministers and lions have to have 
necks to crow and roar with ; only roosters don't 
have to have white neckties to crow in; they 
can crow good enough without them and they have 
to git up too early in the mornin' to see how they 
look without them. Lions never seen neckties for 
they roar in forests, 'cept when they live in "cages. 
One day I was goin' apast a barber's shop and I 



110 ^' ESTRANGEMENT " 

heard the barber say " nex." Hens have to have 
necks too, but they don't crow 'cause they are females, 
and females only cack-cackle. There is a animal called 
a crow which have necks, but they never learned to 
use them like roosters. 

I like roosters better'n I like toads or snakes or 
giraffes or ministers or bullfrogs or hens or crows. 
A great many more things have necks which they 
use, but I can't think of 'em now. 

Laura M. Bronson. 



" ESTRANGEMENT." 

Suggested by reading a prose poem in the '* Century Magazine." 



I ENTERED, upon a day, at the house of my friend 
(the grocer) to pay a bill. Then I saw in the 
face of my friend that there was some change due 
me, and that he did not look upon me with the same 
eyes as before. 

" There is some change," I said. 

" There is no change," he replied. 

So I gave him messages then, and greetings of 
madness, and told him new things, and called him by 
a bad name, and I stayed with him and we spoke to- 
gether ; but, nevertheless, I saw that the fact about 
the change had come over him. So I said : " My 
friend, there is some change to hand over to me." 
And he said, " Nay ; no change." So we conversed 
together again, and the hour came for departure. 
Then my friend bade me stay; and I saw, even in 



STILL TRUE 111 

his bidding, there was some change. So I said to 
him : " There is some change, which thou canst not 
deny. Wherefore dost thou not make change?" 
And my friend said to me, " Farewell !" So I de- 
parted, and left him. But my heart within me cried 
out against that estrangement ; and my pocket was 
broken daily, so that I could not live. 

Therefore, again upon a day I entered the house of 
him who was my friend, that I might upbraid him ; 
and my friend moving toward me, I cried out against 
him as he came, " Where is thy change for me ?" 
But my friend, heeding me not at all, said : " Where- 
fore hast thou delayed so long?" 

And I looked upon his face, and he was exceeding 
bitter sorrowful. Then was I wroth within my mind, 
and knew not which way to turn. For I saw that I 
had not as yet paid the bill, and the change that was 
due me was in my own pocket. 

C. N. COGGSWELL. 



STILL TRUE. 



THOUGH others at thine outline scoff, 
And fail thy charms to see, 
Only too glad to take thee off, 
To jeer and jibe at thee, 

Mine eyes thy curves admiring trace, 

As constant in my love. 
Thee with grave reverence I place 

All else I owe above. 



112 STILL TRUE 

When wintry storms around us rush, 

Thy tottering form I stay, 
Or bear thee swiftly home to brush 

Thy gathered tears away. 

When Phoebus's rays beat fiercely down, 

And timorous souls withdraw 
From the protection of thy gown, 

To trust in powers of straw, 

I, with a calm and steadfast mind. 

To thy dear side adhere. 
And, in thy close embrace confined, 

No sun god's arrow fear. 

My heart to thee I lost outright — 

Ah ! lost beyond recall. 
When first I saw thee fresh and bright, 

And so divinely tall. 

And though since then both thou and I 

Have somewhat older grown. 
Though touched by Anno Domini, 

Thine earlier bloom has flown, 

I will uphold thee to the end. 

No whit the less for that ! 
Nay ! greater care thine age shall tend 

My dear old stove-pipe hat ! 

St. James Gazette. 



HOW HE PARALYZED THE CHEF 113 

HOW HE PARALYZED THE CHEF. 



A TIGHT pair of pants, a shirt of which the bosoiil 
shone like a bald head, a Rhinestone collar- 
button which fastened an immaculate collar to the 
aforesaid shirt, a black alpaca round-a-bout, and an 
apron which just escaped the floor, and inside of all 
a human being, and you have a new waiter. With 
the exception of an embryonic mustache, his face was 
devoid of hair. He had several years' experience, as 
he said, as a waiter, and it was with a feeling of 
pride, to say nothing of the relief, that the head 
waiter saw him take his place in the centre of the 
room and await the rush that always occurs at high 
noon. One by one the tables were filled, and finally 
not a seat was to be had. The new wait-er passed 
noiselessly from one table to another, taking a multi- 
tude of orders with the utmost complacency until he 
reached the end of his station. " At last I have got 
a man that can take care of my customers in the 
proper manner," chuckled the head waiter, as he 
gazed with pardonable admiration on the new man 
awaiting his turn at the dumb-waiter. His satisfac- 
tion was short-lived, however, for all at once the new 
waiter began giving his orders in a voice suggestive 
of the bellow of a bull, and that, too, in a vernacular 
manner that was strangely new to the Brotherhood 
restaurant. 

'' Give me a stack o' whites wid a copper on, a 
terrier widout anv shamrocks, some hens' fruit dat 



114 NAMING THE BABY 

haint over-ripe, a slaughter-house and a paralyzed 
Mick, a cup of coffee on crutches, two insults to a 
square meal, one Sheeney destroyer, and a soaked 
bum, a brown-stone front, and a return good for evil." 

A cry from the kitchen followed, and the carver 
ran up-stairs saying the chef had fainted. The new 
waiter was summarily bounced, and an old hand 
sent to get the order anew, which he did with his 
usual grace and politeness, and gave it in the follow- 
ing style : 

" Give me a plate of wheat-cakes, well browned, 
corned beef without cabbage for one, a plate of fresh 
fried eggs, steak and a boiled potato, a cup of coffee, 
half milk, two dishes of hash, a plate of roast pork 
and pickled beets, pork and beans for one, and change 
this potato for a good one." 

This is what the new waiter meant, but he had had 
too many days' experience on the East Side. 



NAMING THE BABY. 

From " Harper's Bazar." Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. 



WE searched the list from first to last 
To find a name appropriate : 
To crown our curly-headed bo}^ 

We wanted something strong and great. 
First Leonard struck us lionlike — 
A goodly name ; alas ! and when 
The owner reaches man's estate, 

He'll thunder down old time as Len. 



NAMING THE BABY 115 

Philander troubled us awhile — 

For man should love his fellow-man ; 
But 'tis so easy to behead 

To common Phil, we never can. 
Now Roderic is rich in fame. 

We will ; w^ e won't. 'Twill never do 
To place our boy beneath the ban 

Of common Rod his life all through. 

A charming name was Lancelot, 

Or Valentine, Augustus, all — 
But Lance and Val and Gus are not 

The names we wanted folks to bawl. 
Then Constantine and Bertram shone ; 

But Con and Bert we didn't like. 
And Sol is easy cut from Saul ; 

It seemed a name we'd never strike. 

My wife perused the novels strong, 

While aunts and cousins entered in 
The list with names that should belong; 

Of course each claim could never win. 
The baby grew and found his tongue, 

And set our fancies to his will, 
And yelled one night, wdth boyish din, 

" Come off the roof and call me Bill !" 



116 MAN BEHIND IT TO THE THEATRE BONNET 

THE MAN BEHIND IT TO THE THEATRE 
BONNET. 



IF you my valentine would be, 
Come off! 
For o'er your heights I cannot see — 

Come off! 
Oh ! check yourself with Beauty's wrap, 
Or rest yourself on Beauty's lap, 
Or change yourself into a cap — 
Come off! 

When I a costly seat engage. 

Come off ! 
I'd really like to see the stage — 

Come off! 
But as it is I vainly stare — 
The view is hid, I can but swear — 
Oh ! tell me, Bonnet, is it fair ? 

Come off! 

I want you for my valentine — 

Come off! 
To me you are a thing divine — 

Come off ! 
Wouldst thou thy dazzling charms enhance 
And to my heart of hearts advance ? 
Then give me, here behind, a chance — 

Come off! 

Oh I list to duty's pleading voice — 
Come off! 



THE TALE OF A DOG 117 

So shall my hampered eyes rejoice 

Come off! 
Let not a love of incense sway you ; 
Shrink from the public gaze, I pray you. 
Oh ! Bonnet, Bonnet, dear, what say you ? 

Come oflf! 



THE TALE OF A DOG 



CHAPTER I. 

MR. SCADDS. — How often is that upstart of a 
Hunker coming here now to see our Mildred ? 

Mrs. Scadds. — I'm sure he's a very nice young — 

Mr, Scadds. — Nice nothing ! Besides, he's as poor 
as Job's turkey, and Mildred is too young to have 
steady company. How often does he come ? I say 
six times a week and twice on Sunday. 

Mrs. Scadds. — George, dear, remember that Mildred 
is older now than I was when we married; and Mr. 
Hunker could not possibly have less money than we 
had, love. 

Mr. Scadds. — That has nothing to do with it — not 
a thing. I'll put a stop to this sort of thing, so I 
will. I'll get a bull-dog, and turn him loose in the 
front yard every night. Not a soul shall approach 
the house after dark. I'll see what effect that'll have 
on him. 

CHAPTER II. 

Miss Scadds. — Before you go, Mr. Hunker, I think 
I ought to tell you of something papa intends to do. 



118 THE TALE OF A DOG 

Mr. Hunher, — What is it, Misa Scadds ? 

Miss Scadds. — He's going to buy a big bull-dog ! 

Mr. Hunker. — I didn't know your papa was a dog 
fancier. 

Miss Scadds. — He isn't ; he detests dogs. 

Mr. Hunker. — Then why does he intend to make 
such a purchase? 

Miss Scadds. — He's going to get a fierce bull-dog — 
so mamma tells me — and turn the ferocious animal 
loose in the front yard every night. 

Mr. Hunker. — Afraid of burglars, is he ? 

Miss Scadds. — N-n-no. The fact is, it's to keep you 
away. There. I thought I'd better tell you, Harry 
— er — Mr. Hunker, I mean. 

Mr. Hunker. — My little girl — er, I mean Miss 
Scadds — you were afraid I would be torn to pieces 
by its cruel fangs, were you ? I'm very glad you 
told me about it ; I'll be on my guard. (^Looking at 
his watch.) How late is it? Time flies so rapidly 
in your company. Good-night, Mil — er — Miss 
Scadds. 

CHAPTER III. 

Mr. Scadds (to dog dealer). — I want the biggest, 
most ferocious bull-dog you have in the house, sir. 

Cridge (dog dealer). — Something game, eh? 

Mr. Scadds. — Yes ; the gamiest kind of game ! 

Cridge. — Want to indulge in some sport, sir? 

Mr. Scadds.— Sport? 

Cridge. — Yes, sir ; a dog that'll fight any dog in the 
CQuntry, sir. Chew him right up, sir ? 



THE TALE OF A DOG 119 

3fr. Scadds. — Oh ! no ! I want a dog to turn loose in 
front of the house every night. A dog that won't 
let any person except a member of the family ap- 
proach. 

Cridge, — Oh ! yes, sir. You want a watch-dog, eh ? 

Mr. Scadds. — That's it; and I want a dog that 
knows his business, too, and won't be bamboozled by 
tramps and — and by any one else. 

Cridge. — Well, sir; I've a dog that wall do just 
what you want. He was brought in only this morn- 
ing by a gentleman who would not sell him except 
for the reason that he doesn't need him any more. 
He's watchful, and you can trust him, sir. 

Mr. Scadds. — Let me see him. 

Cridge.— Here he is, sir. 

Mr. Scadds. — What a savage-looking beast ! Why, 
I'm afraid of him, myself! 

Cridge. — He's very intelligent, sir ; and he'll learn 
to know you and the rest of the family in a day. 
Then, sir, you'll have a dog to be proud of, and one 
you can trust. 

Mr. Scadds. — What is his price ? 

Cridge. — Two hundred dollars, sir. 

Mr. Scadds. — Well, bring him over to the house 
about six o'clock, and introduce him to his new 
friends. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. Scadds (a month later). — Well, my dear, I sup- 
pose that bull-dog of ours keeps young Hunker aw^ay 
pretty effectually, doesn't he ? 



120 WHEN THE SUNFLOWERS BLOOM. 

Mrs. Scadds. — I'm afraid not, George, dear. 

Mr. Scadds. — What's that ? 

Mrs, Scadds. — The fact is, the dog and Mr. Hunker 
are great friends, which I think shows that Mr. 
Hunker is a man we ought to encourage, for you 
know that dogs are good judges of human — 

Mr. Scadds. — Good judges of fiddlesticks ! 

( Takes up his hat and leaves the house in a hurry.) 

CHAPTER V. 

Mr. Scadds. — Look here, Cridge, who was the gen- 
tleman who sold that bull-dog to you that I bought 
a month ago and paid you two hundred dollars for ? 

Cridge. — Young Mr. Hunker, sir. Why ? 

Mr, Scadds (in a towering rage). — ! >K ! >}^ ^ ^ — ! ! ! ! ! 



WHEN THE SUNFLOWERS BLOOM. 



I'VE been off, on a journey, I jes' got home to-day; 
I've traveled east an' north an' south an' every 
other way ; 
I've seen a heap of country, an' cities on the boom 
Bvit I want to be in Kansas when the 

Bun- 
Flowers 

Bloom. 

Oh ! it's nice among the mount'ins, but I sorter felt 

shet in ; 
'Twould be nice on the seashore ef it wasn't fur the 

din ; 



WHAT HE CALLED IT 121 

While the prairie's air so quiet, an' there's always 

lots o' room ; 
Oh ! it's nicer still in Kansas when the 

Sun- 
Flowers 

Bloom. 

You may talk about yer lilies, yer vi'let, an' yer roses, 
Yer asters an' yer jassimens, an' all the other pos'es ; 
I'll allow they all air beauties an' full er sweet per- 
fume, 
But there's none of 'em a patchin' to the 

Sun- 

Flower's 

Bloom. 

AVhen all the sky above is jest as blue as blue kin be 
An' the prairies air a-wavin' like a yaller driftin' sea, 
Oh ! 'tis here my soul goes sailin' an' my heart is on 

the boom. 
In the golden fields of Kansas when the 

Sun- 
Flowers 

Bloom. 
Albert Bigelow Paine. 



WHAT HE CALLED IT. 



SHE was a Boston lady, and she'd scarcely passed 
eighteen. 
And as lovely as a houri, but of grave and sober 
mien ; 



122 WHAT HE CALLED IT * 

A sweet encyclopaedia of every kind of lore, 
Though love looked coyly from behind the glasses 

that she wore. 
She sat beside her lover, with her elbow on his 

knee, 
And dreamily she gazed upon the slumb'ring sum- 
mer sea; 
Until he broke the silence saying, " Pray, Minerva, 

dear. 
Inform me of the meaning of the Thingness of the 

Here. 
I know you- re just from Concord, where the lights of 

wisdom be. 
Your head crammed full to bursting, love, with their 

philosophy— 
Those hoary-headed sages and maids of hosiery 

blue. 
Then solve me the conundrum, love, that I have put 

to you. ^' 
She smiled a dreamy smile and said : '' The Thing- 
ness of the Here 
Is that which is not passed and hasn't yet arrived, 

my dear. 
Indeed," the maid continued, with a calm, ufiruffled 

brow, 
" The Thingness of the Here is just the Thisness of 

the Now." 
A smile illumed the lover's face, then without any 

naste 
He slid a manly arm around the maiden's slender 

waist. 



billy's SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE 123 

And on her cherry lips impressed a warm and loving 

kiss, 
And said : " Love, this is what I call the Nowness of 

the This." 

SOMERVILLE JoURNAL. 



BILLY'S SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE. 



OF course I don't believe in any such person as 
Santa Claus, but Tommy does. Tommy is my 
little brother, aged six. Last Christmas I thought 
I'd make some fun for the young one by playing 
Santa Claus, but as always happens when I try to 
amuse anybody I jes' got myself into trouble. 

I went to bed pretty early on Christmas Eve so as 
to give my parents a chance to get the presents out 
of the closet in mamma's room, where they had been 
locked up since they were bought. I kep' my close 
on except my shoes, and put my nightgown over 
them so as I'd look white if any of them came near 
me. Then I waited, pinchin' myself to keep awake. 
After awhile papa came into the room with a lot of 
things that he dumped on Tommy's bed. Then 
mamma came in and put some things on mine and 
in our two stockings that were hung up by the chim- 
ney. Then they both went out very quiet, and soon 
all the lights went out too. 

I kep' on pinchin' myself and waitin' for a time, 
and then when I was sure that everybody was asleep 
I got up. The first thing I went into was my sister's 



12 i billy's SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE 

room and got her white fur rug that mamma gave 
her on her birthday, and her sealskin cape that was 
hanging on the closet door. I tied the cape on my 
head with shoestrings and it made a good big cap. 
Then I put the fur rug around me and pinned it with 
big safety-pins what I found on Tommy's garters. 
Then I got mamma's new scrap-basket, trimmed with 
roses, what Mrs. Simmons 'broidered for the church 
fair and piled all of the kid's toys into it. I fastened 
it to my back with papa's suspenders, and then I 
started for the roof. 

I hurt my fingers some opening the scuttle, but 
kept right on. It was snowing hard and I stood and 
let myself get pretty well covered with flakes. Then 
I crawled over to the chimney that went down into 
our room and climbed up on top of it. I had brought 
my bicycle lantern with me and I lighted it so as 
Tommy could see me when I came down the chim- 
ney into the room. 

There did not seem to be any places inside the 
chimney where I could hold on by my feet, but the 
ceiling in our room was not very high and I had 
often jumped most as far, so I jes' let her go, and I 
suppose I went down. Anyway, I did not know 
about anything for a long time. Then I woke up 
all in the dark with my head feeling queer, and when 
I tried to turn over in bed I found I wasn't in bed 
at all, and then my arms and legs began to hurt ter- 
rible, mostly one arm that was doubled up. I tried 
to get up but I couldn't because my bones hurt so 
and I was terrible cold and there was nothing to 



billy's SANTA CLAUS EXPERIEXCE 125 

stand on. I was jes' stuck. Then I began to cry, 
and pretty soon I heard mamma's voice saying to 
pa.pa : 

" Those must be sparrers that are making that 
noise in the chimney. Jes' touch a match to the 
wood in the boys' fireplace." 

I heard papa strike a light and then the wood 
began to crackle. Then, by jinks ! it began to get 
hot and smoky and I screamed: 

" Help ! Murder ! Put out that fire lest you want 
to burn me up !" 

Then I heard papa stamping on the wood and 
mamma calling out : 

" Where's Billy ? Where is my chile ?" 

Next Tommy woke up and began to cry and every- 
thing was terrible, specially the pains all over me. 
Then papa called out very stern : 

'^ William, if you are in that chimney come down 
at once !" and I answered, cryin', that I would if I 
could, but I was stuck and couldn't. 

Then I heard papa gettin' dressed, and pretty soon 
he and John from the stable went up on the roof and 
let down ropes what I put around me and they 
hauled me up. 

It was jes' daylight and I was all black and sooty 
and scratched and my arm was broken. 

Everybody scolded me excep' mamma. I had 
spoiled my sister's white rug and broken all of 
Tommy's toys, and the snow what went in through 
the scuttle melted and marked the parlor ceiling, 
besides I guess it cost papa a good deal to get my 



126 THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE 

arm mended. Nobody would believe that I had 
jes' meant to make some fun for Tommy, and my 
arm and all my bruised places hurt me awful for a 
long time. If I live to be a million I am never 
goiti' to play Santa Claus ag'in. 

Cornelia Redmond. 



THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE. 

• After Longfellow (a long time). 



ISHTOOD on der pridge py Brooklyn, 
Katrina vas py my side, 
I shpend two cends vor to pring her 
Far over der shweebin' tide. 

Ve didn't go py der rope-cars, 
She salt she vould rather valk, 

Unt dake der monies vor gruUers, 
To ead vile ve valk und talk. 

Dey dold us der cars vas beddher, 
It vos sooch a bleasant drip ; 

I sait I never gould drusd dem, 

Because dey mighd loose dheir grip 

Und so ve ead dem gruUers, 
Vile der ropes goes vhizzitig py, 

Unt den I ask uf Katrina, 

" Say ! how vas dis vor high ?" 



THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE 127 

Unt den ve keeb on valkin' 

Till ve gets ub past der tow 
Ven all ad vonce my shtomach 

Id gots peyond mine power. 

Unt far pelow dem gruUers 

Vent floatin' mit der tide, 
Do feed der leetle fishes 

On der ocean vild mid vide. 

Oh ! den I feels mooch beddher, 

Katrina she vas all righd ; 
She salt id vas awful jolly, 

Unt sooch a shplendid sighd. 

Ve shtoocl ub py der cables, 

Unt I poind oudt von py von 
Der shibs oup py der navy yard, 

Vay down py der sunsed gun. 

Unt den I poinds by Jersey, 

Unt den der oddher vay, 
Vhere looms der tower ad Coney, 

^' Coney Island down der pay." 

I dold Katrina of droubles 

Der man hadt mit der grip, 
Der Paines he dook do fix id. 

So dot id vouldn't shlip. 

Ve shtood unt vatched der peebles, 
Der Brooklyn dude vent by, 



128 THE (BROOKLYN) BRIDGE 

He had hees goUer mit him, 
Von foot four mches high. 

His banderloons dey fidded 

So tight like sausage meat, 
Katrina laffed unt dold me 

He had Chicago feet. 

Bud all ad vonce pid-padder, 

Dhere coomes some raindrobs down. 

Id shtruck both me unt Katrina 
Dot ve vos oudt of town. 

Unt var avay vrom shelder, 
Ub close py a clunder shower, 

Der bleeceman salt to hurry, 
Unt got in under der tower. 

Der dude he tried to bead us, 

He shtarded two laps ahead, 
But Chicago feet vos heavy, 

Hees vace it got much red. 

Dot rain id got vet und vetter. 

Id dook der shtarch all oudt, 
Ve looked like a tub of linen 

Lefd oudt beneath der shpoud. 

Dot dude got thinner und thinner, 
Hees gollar shlipped oudt of sighd, 

Hees braceleds shlipped py hees knuckles, 
Hees pands dey vos tighter dan tight. 



AX ABOKIGIXAL CHANT 129 

You haf seen vay oudt in der coundry, 

Der shickens all oudt in der rain, 
Mit dails unt heads a hangin' down, 

Under dhere vhere dev keebs der grain. 

Shust so ve looked py der pridge dhere, 

Enjoyin' der rain dot day, 
Enjoyin' der view midoudt limid 

O'er rifer unt landshcape unt pay. 

Unt vorefer, unt vorefer, 

So long as dose rifers got froze, 
So long as dose ferries got vorser. 

So long as dose fogs arose, 

Der pridge unt its towers unt cables, 
Unt der grib — dey vil alvays shtay, 

Vile der peebles.got shmothered together, 
Ven dhey all drafel vone vay. 

Henry Firth Wood. 



AN ABORIGINAL CHANT. 



TTTHAT time the glittering rays of morn 
V V O'er hill and valley steal, 
Chief Joseph's squaw, with dog and corn, 
Prepares the Indian meal. 

And if, with wild, rebellious shout. 

The papoose shall appear. 
The chieftain leads the bad child out. 

Clutched by the Injine-ear. 
9 



130 AN ABORIGINAL CHANT 

The breakfast o'er, the daughter strolls 

Down glen and shady dell, 
While gay young braves from wooded knolls 

'' Look out for the Injine belle." 

Each stricken brave she turns and leaves, 

Her coyness to bewail ; 
Her dragging blanket stirs the leaves, 

The well-known Indian trail. 

A Black Hills miner, scalped and dead. 

Upon the ground is found ; 
Grim speaks the chief: " There's been, I'm 'fraid 

An Indian summer's around." 

What time he rideth forth to shoot. 

His favorite horse, the dapple is, 
And when he wants a little fruit, 

Goes where the Indianapolis. 

When finished are his warlike tasks, 

W^ith brazen incongruity 
For overcoats and food he asks 

With charming Indianuity. 

At night, before his bed he'll seek, 

With countenance forlorn, 
He takes his scalping-knife, and eke, 

He trims the Indian corn. 



EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE 131 

EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE. 

From '* Harper's Bazar." Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 



*' T OOK here," said the teacher of the Possum 
JLj Ridge school to a twelve-year-old boy who 
came the first day armed with a volum.e of govern- 
ment agricultural reports, '' what are you going to do 
with that book ?" 

" 'Lowed I'd steady hit," the lad replied. 

" But it is not a school-book, and you cannot study 
it here." 

" It's got readin' in it, 'aint hit ?" 

" Yes, it has reading in it." 

" Haint other books got readin' in 'em ?" 

" Yes, generally." 

" Then why kaint I steady this 'un ?" 

" Because it is not a school-book." 

" School-books has got readin' in 'em, haint 
they?" 

^' Yes." 

'^ This 'un's got readin' in it, haint hit ?" 

"Yes." 

" Then why kaint I steady hit?" 

" Because it is not the right kind of book." 

" Pap 'lowed it wuz." 

"Why did he 'low that?" 

" 'Cause it tells 'bout farmin', an' I'm goin' to be a 
farmer. Pap said wa'n't no use goin' to school 'less 
a feller larnt somethin' what 'ud be o' use to him, 



132 EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE 

an' he 'lowed if I wuz goin' to be a farmer, I got to 
larn 'bout hit." 

" Can you read ?" 

"' Guess I can't none to hurt 

" Can you spell ?" 

" Reckon not." 

" Do you know the letters?" 

" Yes, I know them." 

" Do you know them all?" 

" Yes, I know 'em when I see 'em, an' I know thar 
names, but I don't know one from t'other." 

'' Then what do you expect to do with that book?" 

" 'Lowed to steady hit." 

" But you can't unless you learn the letters." 

" Kaint I larn 'em in hit?" 

"No." 

"Haintthey inhit?" 

" Yes, but they are not arranged so you can learn 
them conveniently." 

" Pap 'lowed they wuz sorter flung in together an' 
mixed up, but he said he reckoned you could holp 
me pick 'em out, 'cause you wouldn't have nothin' 
o' no 'count to do." 

" Your father is slightly mistaken. Is this little 
fellow your brother?" 

" Yes." 

" What kind of a book has he ?" 

" A hoss-doctor book." 

" Is he expecting to study it ?" 

" He 'lowed he'd steady hit a few jerks." 

" Does he know his letters ?" 



EDUCATING TO A PURPOSE 133 

" Not enough to hurt." 

" He'll have to get another book." 

" Pap 'lowed he ort to steady this 'un, 'cause he's 
goin' to be a doctor." 

" A horse-doctor, eh ?" 

" No ; a shore 'nough doctor to tend on sick folks. 
Pap 'lowed that 'ud pay, 'cause doctors gits all-fired 
big prices. You don't ketch them workin' like dogs 
for six bits a day." 

" No ; but if your brother is going to be a doctor, 
why does your father want him to study a horse- 
doctor's book ?" 

" 'Cause he 'lowed what wuz good for bosses wuz 
good for folks. I reckon it is, too, 'cause once when 
mam wuz sick, pap dosed her with hoss-medicine, 
an' she got well. She come mouty nigh not makin' 
the riffle, though." 

" Indeed !" 

" Yes-sir-ee. Pap said he never see nobody come 
so nigh flummixin' as she did, an' that if he hadn't 
a' dosed her with hoss-medicine, she'd a' kicked out 
o' the traces, shore." 

" That's too bad, too bad." 

" Bet your hide. It 'ud 'a' been a powerful slam 
on pap if mam had kicked the bucket, 'cause the 
corn-gatherin' an' winter-wood-gittin' hadn't been 
tended to yit. But say, I've got another brother 
what'U come to school to-morry." 

'^ Yes ?" 

" He's goin' to fetch a Bible along, 'cause he's laid 
off to be a preacher." 



134 DOT LOJSG-HANDLED DIPPER 

"How old is he?" 

" 'Most tive, I reckon." 

" He doesn't know the letters, either, I presume?" 

" No." 

" Does he want to be a preacher?" 

" Reckon he aint keerin' much, but pap 'lows he 
ort to be. He said he reckoned thar wuz a right 
smart o' money in it, countin' in the marryin' o' 
folks, an' all sich." 

" Well, well. You are all starting in early to study 
for your professions." 

"What's them?" 

" Professions ? Oh ! your callings in life." 

" Yes, we 'lowed we mout as well. Pap says if a 
feller is goin' to be a thing, he mout jist as well lam 
to be hit. Haint no use monkeyin' with doctor or 
lawyer book if a feller's goin' to be a farmer, is 
thar?" 

" I presume not." 

"That's whut pap says, an' he's powerful long- 
headed." 

Thomas P. Montfort. 



DOT LONG-HANDLED DIPPER. 

Permission of the Author. 



DER boet may sing off " Der Oldt Oaken Bookit," 
Und in shchveetest langvitch its virtues may 
tell ; 

Und how, ven a poy, he mid eggsdasy dook it, 
Vhen dripping mit coolness it rose vrom der veil. 



DOT LONG-HANDLED DIPPER 135 

I don'd take some schtock in dot manner off trink- 
ing; 
It vas too mooch like horses und cattle, I dink. 
Dhere vas more sadisfactions, in my vay of dinking, 
Mit dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der 
sink. 

" How schveet vrom der green mossy brim to receive 
it"— 
Dot vould soundt pooty goot — eef it only vas 
true — 
Der vater schbills ofer, you petter pelieve it ! 

Und runs down your schleeve und schlops indo 
your shoe. 
Dhen down on your nose comes dot oldt iron handle, 

Und makes your eyes vater so gvick as a vink, 
I dells you dot bookit it don'd hold a candle 

To dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. 

How nice it musd been in der rough vinter veddher, 

Vhen it settles righdt down to a cold, freezing rain, 
To haf dot rope coom oup so light as a feddher, 

Und findt dot der bookit vas proke off der chain. 
Dhen down in der veil mit a pole you go fishing, 

Vhile indo your back cooms an oldt-fashioned 
kink ; 
I pet you mine life all der time you vas vishing 

For dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. 

How handy it vas schust to turn on der faucet, 
Vhere der vater flows down vrom der schpring on 
der hill ! 



13G THE poet's morn 

I schust vas der schap dot vill alvays indorse it, 

Oxsbecially nighdts vhen der veddher vas chill. 
Vhen PfeifFer's oldt veil mit der schnow vas all cof- 
ered, 
Und he vades droo der schnow-drift to get him a 
trink, 
I schlips vrom der hearth vhere der schiltren vas 
hofered, 
To dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der sink. 

Dhen gife onp der bookits und pails to der horses ; 
Off mikerobes und tadpoles schust gife dhem dheir 
fill! 
Gife me dot pure vater dot all der time courses 
Droo dhose pipes dot run down vrom der schpring 
on der hill. 
Und eef der goot dings of dis vorld I gets rich in, 
Und friendts all aroundt me dheir glasses schall 
clink, 
I schtill vill rememper dot oldt coundtry kitchen, 
Und dot long-handled dipper dot hangs py der 
sink. 

Charles Follen Adams. 



THE POET'S MORN. 



THE sun in martial splendor rose. 
And put the shades of night to rout ; 
I lightly leaped from my repose. 
To let the chickens out. 



DE GONENESS OB DE PAST 137 

The glorious day moves on apace, 
The latest lingering stars expire ; 

I turn from gazing into space, 
And light the kitchen fire. 

Ah, how Aurora's coursers speed ! 

Roll on, triumphant chariot, roll ! 
I'll follow on my winged steed, 

When I've put on the coal. 

Walter Storks Bigelow. 



CUSHIONS. 



CUSHIONS gay on every chair. 
But never a place lo sit ; 
Cushions, cushions everywhere, 

Till I nearly take a fit ; 
Cushions strewn upon the floor 

On every side I see — 
My wife has taken a cushion craze, 
And there is no room for me. 



DE GONENESS OB DE PAST. 



" TTTHAT I was gwine to remark," said Bro. Gar- 
▼ V dener, as the rattling of hoofs died away on 
the calm evening air, " was to de effeck dat Professor 
January Sunbeam, of Mississippi, am waitin' in de 
ante-room to address de meetin' on de subjeck of 



138 DE GONENESS OB DE PAST 

^ De Goneness ob de Past.' De Professor am not 
only known all ober de kentry fur his theories on 
astronomy, but am de only man in de kentry who 
kin skin a woodchuck in seben minits by de 
w^atch. Sir Isaac Walpole, you and Giveacam Jones 
will put on yer yaller kid gloves an' long-tail coats 
an' escort de Professor into de hall." 

In about five minutes the stranger made his ap- 
pearance and was greeted with a burst of applause 
which upset the water-pail and filled the shoes of 
eight or ten of the nearest members. On taking the 
platform he was introduced by the President, handed 
a piece of slippery elm to keep his throat moist dur- 
ing his oratory, and he then bowed and began : 

" My dear fren's, whar am de past ? Look fur it 
under de bed, dow^n cellar, up sta'rs, in de wood-box, 
or whar you will, an' you cannot find it. Why? 
Kase it am gone. It has slipped away like a streak 
o' grease runnin' across de kitchen floo', an' it will 
nebber, nebber return. (Sighs from all over the hall.) 
Do you meet Plato as you go up de street ? Do you 
fin' Cicero waitin' at de ferry-dock ? Do you hear 
of Giogenes hangin' 'round de Union Depot to work 
de string game on some greenhorn ? Not any ! Dey 
belongs to de past an' gone. Dey sleep in de dim- 
ness of odder centuries. Whar am de glory ob de 
Roman empire ? Whar am Csesar and Brutus and 
Cassius ? Let de dust ob de past answer. (Much 
blowing of noses.) 

" My fren's, de past am not de fucher, any more 
dan day after to-morrow am day befo' yesterday. As 



DE GONENESS OB DE PAST 139 

time fades so does glory fade. To-day you may 
march at the head of de purceshum, yer hat on yer 
ear an' a red sash tied around yer body — to-morrer ye 
may be in jail for borrowin' somebody's wood-pile to 
keep yer feet warm. (Sly and suspicious winks all 
over the room.) Do not prize de present too highly 
— do not forget de warning of de past. We cannot 
recall de past, but we can look back an' see whar de 
grocer gin us short weight on codfish, an' Avhar we 
took advantage of a cloudy day to pass a twenty-cent 
piece off fur a quarter. (Cheers and applause.) 

" My hearers, we should not lib fur de past, but 
fur de fucher. What am it to us as we riz up in de 
mawnin' wheder Csesar met his mother-in-law at the 
depot or forbid her his house ? What am it to us as 
we retire to our humble couches fur de night whether 
de orators of Athens greased their butes wid lard or 
went bar'foot ? As we sit on a box in de alley to 
consume our noonday lunch we car' not whether 
Brutus dyed his goatee or was clean shaved. (Cries 
of ' No ! No ! ') But de fucher am big wid events. 
To-day we may be full of sorrow. If so w^e hope dat 
de morrow will bring clam chowder. (Great smack- 
ing of lips.) If de present am full of biles and chil- 
blains an' heart aches, de fucher may be as bright as 
a cat's eye shinin' out of a bar'l on a dark night. 
Nebber look back on de past. It am as much gone 
as a three-cent piece paid out fur Fourth of July 
lemonade. Nebber despair of de fucher. When de 
heart is heaviest, fire lowest, an' work skeercest you 
may find a los' wallet, or strike some butcher willin' 



140 THE MAN IN THE MOON AND I 

to give credit. (Whoops of applause.) My fren's, I 
am dun. Thanking you severely for your infectious 
distraction, I 'rambulate to my seat wid odiferous 
feelings of concentration toward each and ebery one 
of you." 



THE MAN IN THE MOON AND I. 



THERE was plenty of gold in his coffer last week, 
And plenty of silver in mine ; 
High living had colored and rounded his cheek, 

And my own wasn't in this line. 
Oh! he winked and looked knowing if nothing 
w^orse, 
For he has his own joke in the sky ; 
And we hadn't a care in the whole universe, 
The Man in the Moon and I. 

To-night he's as ragged and careworn and lank 

As I have been looking all day, 
And whether he's sunk all his gold in some bank 

Or put it on pool I can't say ; 
And if he has had something stronger than water, 

What odds when the world's all awry ? 
For the month isn't up, and we're on our last quarter. 

The Man in the Moon and I. 

Jacqes Esprit. 



THE emigrant's RETURN 141 

THE EMIGRANT'S RETURN. 



IN ONE ACT. 



QCENE. — A cottage in Ireland. Enter Emigrant, 
O who surveys the room with emotion, and knocks 
for inmate. Door opens. Inmate enters. 

Emigrant — Is my father alive ? 

Inmate — He is not. 

Emigrant — Is my mother living ? 

Inmate — She is not. 

Emigrant — Is there any whisky in this house ? 

Inmate — There is not. 

Emigrant (sighs heavily) — This is indeed a woeful 
day. [Dies. 

Slow music. Curtain. 



WHY JIM FORSOOK THE MINISTRY. 



OF jes' no 'count an' mebbe wuss, 
A long, slab-sided, shuckless cuss, 
Was Jim McPhee, of Tennessee. 
All winter long he'd squat aroun' 
The grocery down at Possum Town 
An' toast his shins an' chaw an' chaw, 
An' spit upon the stove an' jaw 
'Bout this an' that an' t'other thing 
Till 'long nigh plantin' time in spring, 
When suddint like he'd limber up 



142 WHY JIM FORSOOK THE MINISTRY 

Ez peart an' frisky ez a pup, 

An' low ez how he'd got a call 

Ter preach, and then light out till fall. 

Year in, year out, 'twas jes' the same. 
Ag'in' the plan tin' season came 
He'd leave his kids without their pap, 
An' leave his wife to make the crap. 
An' make a sneak, an' many a week 
Would pass afore his folks would see 
A hide or hair of Jim McPhee. 
An' all the while he'd be away 
His wife was slavin' night an' day, 
A-plantin' corn, a-rakin' hay, 
A-diggin' taters, totein' wood 
An' doin' work no woman should, 
Ter keep a raft of children fed 
An' clothed an' shelter overhead. 

But when the harvestin' was through 
Jim — he'd turn up as good as new, 
An' hang aroun' the store again, 
An' tell the souls he'd saved from sin, 
An' how the houses all was crammed. 
An' how the mourners' bench was jammed. 
An' how they'd shout, an' this an' that, 
At towns whar he'd been preachin' at. 

Now Huldy Jane war big an' strong 
An' patient as the days were long — 
One of yer easy goin' kind 
That never growled nor jawed nor whined. 



WHY JIM FORSOOK THE MINISTRY 143 

Thar never was no one ez thunk 

That Huldy had a bit of spunk. 

But things went on from bad ter wuss 

And got so durned monotinuss 

I swar 'twould drive an angel wild, 

An' even Huldy Jane got riled. 

Says Jim McPhee, one bright spring day, 
Ter Huldy, '• I must go away 
An' leave you all a little spell 
An' save poor errin' souls from hell ; 
I've got a call, my duty's plain, 
An' so good-bye." But Huldy Jane 
In ca'm, firm, ernest tones, says she, 
^' I kinder reckon, Jim McPhee, 
That you've mistook 'bout this yer call, 
An' you won't git ter go at all." 
An' when he stomped aroun' an' shook 
His fist, then Huldy gently took 
A reef in James' sorrel hair. 
And slammed him down acrost a chair. 
An' banged his head ag'in' the floor. 
Then rested up an' banged some more ; 
An' when the lout began ter squall, 
She axed him, " How about yer call?" 

Right thar the Reverend James McPhee, 

He done forsook the ministry. 
" Huldy Jane," he meekly whined, 
" I've got no call of nary kind." 
" Now thar you lied," says Huldy Jane, 



144 LATEST FORM OF LITERARY HYSTERICS 

" Ye've got a call — yer duty's plain " — 
And here she guv his hair a jerk — 

" Ye've got a call ter go ter work." 
An' Jim he melted jes' like wax 
An' says, " I reckon them's the facks." 
An' then she holps him ter his feet, 
An' says in accents soft an' sweet, 
A-givin' him a cheerful smile, 

" It's peared ter me a right smart while 
Ez how 'twas time the gardin's made," 
An' showed him whar ter find the spade 
Now you may travel far an' near. 
An' s'arch the hull blamed hemisphere 
From north ter south if you're inclined, 
An' nary busier man you'll find 
Than Jim McPhee of Tennessee. 

Clarence H. Pierson. 



LATEST FORM OF LITERARY HYSTERICS. 



^PHE little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed 
A- and scratched its neck. Afar down the valley a 
lone ragman drove his chariot slowly along and 
chanted his plaintive lay. The wind moaned through 
the chimney-pots, the red sun looked dimly down 
through the smoke, and the little bird stood on the 
roof of the cowshed and scratched its neck. 

The little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed 
and scratched its neck. Sadly the stray policeman 
in the gray distance swiped a banana from the cart 



COUNTING EGGS 145 

of a passing Italian and peeled it with a grimy hand. 
He was thinking, thinking. And the dead leaves 
still choked the tin spout above the rain-water barrel 
in the back yard. 

The little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed 
and scratched its neck. Adown the gutters in the 
lonely street ran murky puddles on their long, long 
journey toward the distant sea. Borne on the wings 
of the sluggish breeze came a far-off murmur of vag- 
rant dogs in fierce contention, and life w^as a hollow 
mockery to the homeless cat. 

The little bird stood on the roof of the cowshed 
and scratched its neck. And it softly said : 

" I scratch because it itches !" 

Chicago Tribune. 



COUNTING EGGS. 



OLD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens on the 
streets of Austin for a living, is as honest an old 
negro as ever lived; but he has the habit of chat- 
ting familiarly with his customers, hence he fre- 
quently makes mistakes in counting out the eggs 
they buy. He carries his wares around in a small 
cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in 
front of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old 
lady herself came out to the gate to make the purchase. 
'^ Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle Moses ?" 
she asked. 
10 



146 COUNTING FGGS 

'' Yes, indeed I has. Jess got in ten dosen from de * 
kentry." 

"Are they fresh?" 

''Fresh? Yas, indeed! I guantees 'em, an' — 
an' — de hen guantees 'em." 

" I'll take nine dozen. You can just count them 
into this basket." 

" All right, mum ;" he counts, " One, two, free, 
foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, ten. You can rely 
on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin' on de 
school? He must be mos' grown." 

"Yes, Uncle Moses; he is a clerk in a bank in 
Galveston." 

" Why, how ole am de boy ?" 

" He is eighteen." 

" You don't tole me so ! Eighteen, and getting a 
salary already! Eighteen (counting), nineteen, 
twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twen- 
ty-foah, twenty-five. And how's your gal comin' 
on ? She was most growed up de last time I seed 
her." 

" She is married and living in Dallas." 

" Wall, I declar' ; how time scoots away ! And 
you say she has childruns? Why how ole am de 
gal? She must be jest about — " 

"Thirty-three." 

" Am dat so ?" (Counting.) " Firty-free, firty-foah, 
firt3^-five, firty-six, firty-seven, firty-eight, firty-nine, 
forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am singu- 
lar dat you has sich ole childruns. You don't look 
more den forty years old yersefil" 



COUNTING EGGS 147 

" Nonsense, old man ; I see you want to flatter me. 
When a person gets to be fifty-three years old — " 

" Fifty-free ! I jess dun gwinter bleeve hit ; fifty- 
free, fifty -foah, fifty-five, fifty-six — I want you to pay 
'tenshun when I count de eggs, so dar'U be no mis- 
take — fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty- 
free, sixty-foah. Whew ! Dis am a warm day. Dis 
am de time ob year when I feels I'se gettin' ole my- 
self; I aint long fur dis world. You comes from an 
ole family. When your fadder died he was sebenty 
years ole." 

^' Seventy-two." 

" Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, seb- 
enty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, 
sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine. And your mudder? 
she was one ob de noblest-lookin' ladies I ebber see. 
You remind me ob her so much ! Shelibed tomos' 
a hundred. I bleeves she was done past a centurion 
when she died." 

'' No, Uncle Moses ; she was only ninety-six when 
she died." 

" Den she wan't no chicken when she died, I know 
dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety- 
nine, one hundred, one, two, free, foah, five, six, 
seben, eight — dar, one hundred and eight nice fresh 
eggs — ^jess nine dozen, and here am one moah egg in 
case I have discounted myself." 

Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days 
afterward Mrs. Burton said to her husband : 

" I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. 
I am satisfied that she steals the milk and eggs. I 



148 THE FOUR FLIES 

am positive about the eggs, for I bought them day 
before yesterday, and now about half of them are 
gone. I stood right there, and heard Moses count 
them myself, and there were nine dozen." 

Texas Siftings. 



THE FOUR FLIES. 

A BOARDING-HOUSE EPISODE. 



ON a window-sill one morning still, 
In golden summer weather. 
Four weary flies with blinking eyes 

Buzzed hungrily together. 
Before them lay a table, spread 

With desolate-looking fare ; 
They knew they were in a boarding-house 
By the chipped stone-chinaware. 

Said the oldest fly, with a tear-dimmed eye : 

"All this I have been through. 
And if you eat of this doubtful treat. 

That hour you will surely rue. 
I lost my ma, and I lost my pa, 

And I lost my children three ; 
They were snared by such delusive joys 

As the ones to-day we see." 

But though kindly warned her advice was scorned, 

And straight the trio flew 
To the table head, whereon was spread 

The frugal dishes few. 



THE FOUR FLIES 149 

And left the patriarch fly alone 

A-weeping on the sill ; 
And set to work without ado 

To eat and drink their fill. 

The first young fly resolved to try 

The milk cerulean blue, 
For his head was sore from the night before 

When he stayed a party through. 
But, alas ! the chalk that filled his cup 

Brought cramps that laici him low ; 
" Ha, ha !" buzzed the fly from his window-pane ; 
" Now didn't I tell you so ?" 

The second fly had set his eye 

On the ponderous sugar bowl. 
And made a jump for the biggest lump 

His hunger to console. 
But the marble dust soon stretched him out 

A corpse on the cloth below. 
While the old fly sang as a requiem : 
" Now didn't I tell you so ?" 

And now the third adventurous bird 

Attacked a dish of peas. 
Which a year or more before the war 

Had been brought across the seas. 
When the verdigris got in its work 

His joy was turned to woe, 
While the old fly hummed to a dismal tune, 
" Now didn't I tell you so ?" 



150 BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 

The aged fly of the tear-dimmed eye, 

Who sat on the window-sill, 
Was filled with woe as she saw them go 
To meet a fate so ill. 
" Why should I care to live," she said, 
" When death lurks everywhere ? 
In every toothsome dish, I w^een, 
Is hidden some despair." 

So forth she stole to the poisonous bowl 

Which the name " Fly Poison " bore, 
And with maniac laugh began to quaff 

The deadly drink galore. 
It did not kill — it made her stout; 

She aldermanic grew. 
Because, you see, the poison was 

Adulterated, too ! 

E. D. PlERSON. 



BOB JOHNSTON'S VISIT TO THE CIRCUS. 



WEEL, ye maun understan', said Bob, that nae- 
thing in the worl' wid ser' the guidwife but a 
veesit to the circus. She had set her heart on that. 
The bairns, too, had been deavin' me aboot clowns 
an' tum'lers an' horses, sae, for peacesake, an' to sort 
o' oil the family machenery, I set a nicht, an' agreed 
to take the hale rick-ma-tick in to see the show. 

I canna say I'm ony great admirer o' circuses — I 
never was in ane afore — but this I maun admit, that 



BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 151 

the performance, so far as I saw't, was really baith 
divertin' an' wonnerfu'. There was a'e man in par- 
ticular that stuicl up on the very top o' a horse fleein' 
roun' the ring like a comet, an' the claes that man 
took aff him was a caution. Losh, he seemed to be able 
to peel himsel' like an ingan, till the rascal at last 
slipped off his vera trousers an' stuid in his nicht 
shirt afore a' the folk. Even this was at last whupt 
aff, an' there he was a' shinin' in spangles, like a 
harlequin ! 

Aifter that a drunk chiel' staggered into the ring, 
an' the daft gowk insisted on ha'ein' a ride on ane o' 
the horses, in spite o' a' the man wi' the big whup in 
the middle o' the ring could sae or dae. I saw for 
mysel' that the creature was nae mair fit to ride on a 
horse than he wis to flee in the air, but willy-nilly 
he wid get up on the horse's back till the clown an' 
the man wi' the big whup in his han' were perfectly 
tired wi' his thrawness, an' they gied him a leg up to 
please him an' keep him Cjuate. 

It wis jist as I expected. The minute he wis 
heised up owre he went, richt ower the animal's back, 
an' doon he cam' wi' a clash on the ither side. Lo'd, 
I thocht he wid ha'e broken his neck wi' the fa', but 
no, up he got mair thrawn than ever, an' naething 
wid pit him aff the notion o' gettin' up on that 
horse's back an' ridin', richt reason or nane. 

The ringmaister was fairly daft to ken what to dae 
wi' him, an' as I saw a bobby stannin' up on the tajj 
seat o' the gallery, I got up on the selva^^e o' the 
rin^', an' wavin' my han' to the policeman, I cried : 



152 BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 

" Hey ! policeman, come doon to the daft eediot. 
It's as muckle's his life's worth to lippen a man sae 
far gane in drink on the back o' a horse like that. 
He'll be kilt, an' that'll be seen." 

These sentiments o' mine seemed to find an echo 
in every breast, for the cheerin' an' lauchin' that set 
in was something tremendous. 

But it was nae use speakin' ; the policeman widna 
stir a'e fit, but stuid up an' lauched wi' the lave, an' 
the man wid be up on the horse's back, dae all they 
could too keep him doon. They gied him a heise 
up again, an' awa' he went plaistered up wi' his legs 
striddled owre the horse's head. Of coorse he tum- 
bled aff aince mair, an' the next time the daft fule 
stuck himsel' wi' his face to the -tail, as if he didna 
ken a'e end o' the animal frae the ither. Then the 
horse set aff, an' my vera hair was stannin' on en' at 
the rascal, wha was hingin' on by the horse's tail. 
But naething wid ser' the madman but he'd stan' up 
on the horse's back like he'd seen the ithers dae, an' 
to my great astonishment, he actually managed this, 
an' gaed through some of the comicallest caipers ever 
you saw. It's weel seen there's a special providence 
for bairns an' drunk folk. 

Aifter this, a maist amusin' wee brat o' a clown 
made his appearance in the ring, dressed in a suit o' 
calico o' the maist ridiculous description. 

Hooever, I maun say this, that I enjoyed the 
caipers o' the wee mannie jist as weel's ony o' the 
bairns, wha were nearly gaun into fits wi' lauchin' at 
him. But jist at this time ane o' the horses sent a 



BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 153 

lump o' sawdust an' dirt afF its hoofs into oor Willie's 
e'e, sae I took him on my knee to try an' get the 
stuff oot, an' no haud him cryin'. While I was busy 
workin' awa' wi' my hankie, a' at aince I hears the 
awfuUest roar o' lauchter, an' lookin' up what did I 
see but the wee clown mannie busy kissin' my wife. 
Dod, flesh an' bluid couldna stan' impidence like 
that. I like fun just as weel's onybody, but that was 
raither much o' a good thing for me. 

" Get oot o' there, ye pentit wee monkey that ye 
are !" I cried, makin' glaum at the nochty bit creature. 
" Wid ye daur to spiel owre the seats an' kiss my wife 
before my very lookin' face ?" But, lod ! he was like 
a needle, for before I could lay my fingers on him he 
tumbled like a wuUcat back into the ring, an' awa' 
he went birlin' roun' like a cart wheel, while the folk 
on every side were screechin' oot at what they doot- 
less took to be gran' fun. Maybe it wis, only I 
couldna see it in that licht. 

Ance rouse the slumberin' lion in Bob Johnston, 
an' I can tell ye he's a very deevil to deal wi'. Mag- 
gie threw her airms roun' me to keep me doon, but I 
was neither to haud nor to bind. 

" Let go, ye shameless woman !" I cried. " Wid 
ye hae me condone an offense against common de- 
cency like that?" Wi' these words I sprang into the 
ring, an' aifther the impertinent vagabond as hard as 
my legs could carry me, amid the cheerin' o' the hale 
circus. 

Roun' aboot an' roun' aboot the ring we gaud, the 
wee clown lookin' the very pictur' o' fear, an' I com- 



154 BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 

in' thunderin' aifter him like that Greek chiel' Nem- 
esiSj I think he's ca'd. The excitement was tremen- 
dous. I felt my puff fast leavin' me, but I was jist 
within airm's length o' the creatur', an' sometimes 
nearly had him in my grip, but aye as I passed the 
side o' the ring next the wife, she oot wi' her hands 
an' tried to grup me by the coat tails an' haud me 
back. 

I was jist in the very act o' layin' my han' o' aim 
on the scruff o' the creatur's neck, when he dookit 
his held like a deuk in a pond, an' awa' I went fleein' 
owre his heid, sprauchled oot as flet's a flounder, wi' 
my nose buried aboot a fit an' a hauf amang dirty 
sawdust, that smelt horribly o' the stable. 

The folk a' seemed to think that this was a pairt o' 
the regular performance by the way they cheered, 
an' Avhen the cause o' a' the uproar cam' OAvre an' 
lifted me up, lettin' at the same time a neifu' o' saw- 
dust trickle through his fingers as if it had come 
pourin' oot o' my nose, the lauchter was something 
tremendous. 

I was that way used up for want o' wdn' at the 
time that I couldna resent his caipers, an' when the 
wee creature popped doon on his knees in the middle 
o' the ring an' begged my pardon for kissin' my 
wife, lod, I hadna the heart to feel angry, sae I shuik 
him by the han', an' said, " A' richt, my chappie, I'll 
forgi'e ye this time, but juist dinna dae't again, or 
there'll be the deil to pay." 

But, lod, it's ill to ken wha's yer frien' in this 
worl', for, pretendin' the greatest regaird for my feel- 



BOB Johnston's visit to the circus 155 

in s, he began to brush the sawdust afF my coat wi' 
his han', an' then to tak' my airm an' mairch me 
roun' aboot the ring, an' every time I turned my 
back the folk seemed to split their very sides wi' 
lauchin'. 

I could see naething to lauch at, but next moment 
I sees the wife, wi' the family umbrella in her han', 
jump into the ring, an' afore the clown kent whaur 
he was stannin', losh, she hit him a crack on the 
held that sent him spinnin' owre the ring like a 
peerie. 

^'Ye nesty, impident mountebank that ye are!" 
she cried, shakin' her umbrella at the mannie, wha 
was sittin' rubbin' his croon in the funniest manner 
ever ye saw ; " I'll learn ye to chalk up yer insultin' 
figures on my man's back. Come awa' hame, Bob, 
oot o' this. It wisna to gi'e fun to a wheen haiverin' 
fules we cam' here." 

So sayin', Maggie pu'd me by the airm across the 
ring oot by the big door whaur the performers cam' 
in by, an', followed by the bairns, wha by this time 
had jumped into the ring aifter their respected par- 
ents, we mairched oot ^Tandly, wi' the band playin', 
an' the folk cheerin' an' lauchin' an' ruflfin' like to 
bring doon the hoose. 

It wisna till aifter I got oot that I discovered the 
trick played on me, for the clown, while he was pre- 
tendin' to be dowcin' the dust afF my back, was 
chalkin' up at the same time a cuddy's held wi' 
lang lugs on the back-breadth o' my guid black 
coat 



156 THE UNDER-TOW 

The circus man cam' up to the hoose next day, an' 
offered me five pounds a week if I'd come doon 
every nicht for a month an' gang through the same 
performance. He said the Bob Johnston episode 
was the best thing in the programme, an' he slippit 
a half-croon into each o' the bairn's ban's. But na, 
na, I'm for nae mair circus performances. 

Andrew Stewart. 



THE UNDER-TOW. 



"A FATHER," shouted Johnny Leach, 
Vy As down at Coney Isle 
They wandered up and down the beach, 
" May I go in awhile ?" 

" You may, my son," he said to liim ; 
" But hear me, ere you go : 
'Tis not enough that you can swim, — 
Beware the under-tow." 

Then Johnny donned a bathing-suit, 

And quickly waded in 
The foaming sea, with yell and hoot, 

Until it reached his chin. 

He swam around and splashed about 

With boisterous delight. 
When suddenly he gave a shout, 

And disappeared from sight. 



PARODY ON " BARBARA FRIETCHIE " 157 

He rose, he sank, then rose again. 

And struck out for the shore ; 
His face was writhing, as in pain ; 

One foot was red with gore. 

His father gazed, and then said he, 
" My son, I told you so." 
" Nay, father, 'twas a crab, not me, 
That caught the under-toe." 

His father clasped, in silent joy, 

That wet lad to his heart. 
And said, " You'll not live long, my boy, 

Because you are too smart." 



PARODY ON " BARBARA FRIETCHIE.'^ 



Drough der streeds of Frederickdown, 
Wid der red-hot sun shining down. 
Past der saloons filled mit beer, 
Dem repel fellers valked on der ear. 

All day drough Frederickdown so fasd, 
Hosses foot und sojers past, 
Und der repel flag skimming oud so pright, 
You vould dink py jiminy id had a ridght. 

OS* der mony flags dot flapped in der morning 

vind, 
Nary a vone could enypody find. 
Ub shumbed old Miss Frietchie den, 
Who vas pent down py nine score years und den. 



158 PARODY ON "BARBARA FRIETCHIE " 

She took der Aug the men hauled down, 
Und stuck it fasd on her nighd-gown, 
Und pud id in der vinder vere all could see 
Dot dere vas vone who did lofe dot good old jBlag 
so free. 

Yust then ub come Stonewall Jack, 

Riden on his hosses' pack, 

Under his prows he squinted his eyes, 

By golly de olt flag make him much surprise. 

" Halt!" veil, efery man he stood him sdill, 
a Fire !" vas echoed from hill do hill ; 

Id broke her strings of dot nighd-gown. 

Put olt Babra she vas round. 

She freezed on dot olt flag right quick, 
Und oud of der vindow her head did stick: 
" Schoot, of you must, dis old cray head. 
Put spare dot country's flag !" she said. 

A look of shameness soon came o'er 
Der face of Jack, und der tears did pour ; ' 
" Who pulls oud a hair of dot paid head 
Dies like a donkey ! — skip along," he said. 

All dot day und all dot night, 
Undil efery rebel vas knocked oud of sight, 
Und vay pehind from Frederickdown, 
Dot flag stuck fasd to dot olt nighd-gown. 

Babra Frietchie's vork vas done. 
She don'd eny more kin hafe some fun; 
Pully for her ! und drop a dear 
For dot olt gal midoud some fear. 



DEM OLE DIMES HABBINESS AND DEM NEW 159 

DEM OLE DIMES HABBINESS AND DEM NEW. 



"f\ilj my, my !" says a leetle feller, '' but voont I bin 
VJ awful habby vtien I'm a big man ! Voont dhem 
bin awful habby times vhen I kin bin your own boss, 
und kin shtay out early nights ! Vhen I voont have 
to vent to shleeb on der bedclothes right avay be- 
hindt subber ! Vhen I kin needent shtudy big books 
not no more, und inshtead kin read der bic- 
ture pabers und der 'dim novels!' Vhen I kin 
vear big boots und paber gollars, und kin shmoke 
pibes und shpit on der shtofe ! Oh ! my ! but dhen 
vill bin habbiness !" 

Und der boor leetle fellers turns ofer und vents to 
schleeb, treamin' 'bout der goot times comin' ! Veil, 
dis leetle rooster grows ub to bin vat he vants to be — 
a '' big man." He's now got blenty richfulness und 
so fourd ; but hear him talk : 

'' Oh ! my, my ! but vasn't dem habby times in der 
poyhoodt days of shilthood. Vhen I didn't had nod- 
ding to do but to eat pread und molasses, und git my 
face dirty ; vhen I didn't had nodding heafier dan a 
leetle shtudy to bodder my head loose, instead of dis 
neferlasting fighting mit der vorldt, vich has vorryed 
me my prains gray all my life ; vich has shticked 
my head full vit wrinkles, und my forehead full mit 
gray hairs ; vich has made my heart cold und soury 
like I can't talk a bleasant vorvlt to not nobody ; und 
vich has cofered my old face mit mudgutters instead 
of dimbles ! Oh ! dem was der habby times, vhen my 



160 DEM OLE DIMES HABBINESS AND DEM NEW 

heart vas full mit shinyness und my head was filled 
mit nodding. Now, my head vas full up mit shmart- 
ness and big knowledges, my heart vas filled mit 
plackness und plack memories, und my old legs vas 
filled mit der slowness und der roomatickers ! Oh ! 
yes, dose boyhoodt days vas my habbiness !" 

" Oh ! my," says a leetle girl softly to herself, 
" voont dhem bin habby times vhen I git a leetle 
older sized, und vas a young lady ! Vhen I dress ub 
so nice mit vite clothes und curly hair und pink 
ribbons, und all der young fellers dhem will say : 
' My ! but aint she sveet ?' Oh ! my, but dhem vill 
bin habbiness !" 

Veil, she builds up into a sveet leetle young lady. 

" Oh ! my !" she plushes to herself, " voont dot bin 
habby times vhen me und Sharlie vas got married 
togedder, nefer to part for efer und nefer und efer ! 
Vhen ve hafe our nice leetle home, so bright und 
clean ; mit nice red carpets und vite vinder-shades, 
und a kitten-cat singing near der shtofe ! Und a nice 
leetle subber-table mit proiled coff'ee und shtrong 
shicken, und me a bourin' out der tea, und Sharlie 
a hidin' avay der pancakes, und shvearin' dot I vas 
der only one in der vorldt, py gracious, vot could 
cook bancakes for him ; und leetle Sharlie sittin' on 
der oder side, in der high-ub shair, py der side of his 
leetle sister, und der baby fast ashleeb in der next 
room, und — Oh ! my, but voont dot bin habbi- 
ness ?" 

Der years bass on, as dey vill, und dis young lady 
vas older — und viser. " Oh, my ! but dhem vas 



I 



DEM OLD DIMES HABBIXESS AND DEM NEW 161 

habby times vlien I was a young girl py my mad- 
der's arms ! Sure vas trubble come py me now. It 
abbears to me dot since I'm bin got married I'm 
doin' nodding but vork, vork, vork, from daylight 
till nightliglit! Alvays scrubbin' der carpet, or 
foolin' mit greasy dishes, buildin' big loafs of home- 
made preadt, half sole und heelin' stockins, or in- 
wentin' patches on der wrong end of leetle Sharley's 
bandyloons ! Always a-doing someding ! Uf I aint 
gleanin' der house, I'm a-fixin' ub somedin' to eat, 
und dot keeps me alvays busy ; und I got me nefer 
not no time to fix myself ub pooty like vhen I vas a 
habby young girl, und vasn't doin' der cookin' und 
repairin' for not no man ! Und dhen my Sharlie — 
vonce so awful schveet py me — vas shanged, und 
now don't notice me werry heafy except vhen der 
subber-table he vasn't ready ! Und he vas uckly 
like two sticks was cross. Veil, berhabs he aint to 
blame aldogedder. He vorked hard und faithful, 
but der bizness didn't vent goot, und so he got 
kinder careless und reckless, und vent und buyed a 
glass of beer ! Dis shdarted him, und now he dooks 
his bidders, oh ! awful regular ! But dhen he says 
he's goin' to begin a new leaf ofer mit der new year, 
und vork hard to got rich, und dhen I needn't vash 
vinders no more, und oh ! voont dot bin habbi- 
ness ?" 

Veil, Sharlie shut down on his " bidders," vorked 
hard, und got rich. Sharlie's leetle vife she's now^ a 
old lady mit quiet face und silfrey hair, fast '' ventin' 
home." Hear her vat she moans : 
11 



162 THE butcher's boy and the baker's girl 

" Oh ! my ! but vasn't dot too bad. Yoost after my 
Sharlie vorked so veil, und succeeded so nice, und 
vas beginning to dook dings easy, he vas tookened 
avay from me. Und here I vas alone, mit blenty 
gold und dot kind of comfort, but mit blenty veak- 
ness in my boor old heart — mit some of my shilders 
gone to meet dhere fader, und der rest scattered far, 
far avay from dhere old mudder. Oh, my, my ! but 
dhere is a habbiness vat I'm a-lookin' out for, vich I 
kinder dink pooty sure von't fail me, und dot's a 
habbiness not of dis vorldt von bit, but of a blace 
vhere habbiness lasts forefer und efer, und plack 
disabbointments vas nefer not known !" 

Nick Slaeter. 



THE BUTCHER'S BOY AND THE BAKER'S 
GIRL. 



IT was down in the yeast part of the city. He 
was a bully butcher boy — she was the pie-ous 
daughter of the German baker next door, with eyes 
like currants, and her yellow hair twisted on the 
back of her head like a huge cruller. They leaned 
toward each other over the backbone of the separat- 
ing rail. He was casting sheep's eyes at her, while 
hers turned on him with a provocating roll. 

^' Meat me to-night beef-fore quarter to ten," 
said he. 

" Oh ! dough-nut ask it," said she. 



THE butcher's BOY AND THE BAKER's GIRL 163 

" I make no bones about it," said he. 

" You're not well-bread," said she. 

" Only sweet-bread," said he. 

" Don't egg me on," said she. 

" I never sausage a girl. Don't keep me on tender 
hooks," said he, quite chop-fallen. 

" Why don't you wear the dear flour I gave you ?" 
asked she. 

" Pork-quoi ?" asked he. 

" Oh ! knead I say ?" asked she. 

" That don't suet me," said he. 

" You're crusty. I only wanted to cracker joke," 
said she. 

" You gave me a cut — the cold shoulder," said he. 

" Ah, you don't loaf me," sighed she. 

" Veal see. I'll cleave to you, and no mis-steak — 
if you have money," said he. 

" I can make a-bun-dance," said she. 

'' Then no more lamb-entations," said he. " You 
shall be my rib." 

" Well done," said she. 

And their arms embraced like a pretzel. So his 
cake was not all dough ; she liked a man of his kid- 
ney ; and, being good livers, they will no doubt live 
on the fat of the land, raisin' lots of children. This 
world is a queer jumble, but 'love seems "bread in 
the bones." 



164 THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN 

THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN. 



OH ! why do the critics insist 
That I am not an actor born ? 
Why do the gallery gods, forsooth, 

Turn all me powers to scorn? 
I feel great fires within me frame 

Which high should mount 

From me souPs deep fount 
And set the world aflame : 
Then why am I here in this 

No Man's Land, 
So far from the marts of trade ? 
Collect thyself, mind — ah, yes — last 
Week I enacted the great Jack Cade. 
I lived Cade's life through every scene, 

And showed Jack's hopes and fears. 
But the New York critics all proved that I 

Had played (he haw, he haw) a Jack with ears. 
The theatre was crowded, and every one paid 
To see me enact the great Jack Cade. 
Forth I rushed on the stage 'midst a storm of 

huzzas, 
And me very first speech won ten rounds of ap- 
plause. 
Too much so, methought, 

Yet it flattered me pride and resolved me the more. 
So, with grand tragic stride 
And Delsartean sweep of me eloquent arais, 
I proceeded to paralyze the house with me charms, 



THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN 165 

When something hit me in the neck, 
Which aroused me dramatic ire ; 
" The man who threw that egg," says I, 
'^ Is a diabolical, paradoxical liar." 
He apologized, and said that, far from 

Theatrical infracting. 
That he had paid his money to see me act, 

And only intended to be eggzacting. 
Oh ! then awoke the hope that slept 

Within me manly breast. 
An exacting audience now must needs 

Exact of me me best. 
But oh ! the perfume of that chestnutty egg 

Had me memory so unfixed. 
That the lines of every play I knew 
Got most — confoundedly — mixed. 
" To be or not to be," I cried ; 

The audience said I had better not, 
And advised me to go and soak me head, 

Or seek some quiet, breezy spot. 
Where the wind might through me whiskers blow, 
Ere I turned up my toes to the daisies. 
" Oh ! cruel critics," I cried, 
" Ye shall hear me yet. 
" ' Richard's himself again,' " you bet 
They applauded, then hooted, then crushed me 

hopes 
With bouquets tied to the ends of ropes. 
They guyed me, yes, and they bouquets plied 
Of a vegetable kind, till I could have died. 
Yet on with the play, tho' it rain cats and dogs, 



166 THE CRUSHED TRAGEDIAN 

I cried, while showers of eggs 

Bespattered me togs. 

Still fiercely I acted till a big potato caught me 

Here, near me fifth rib, and suddenly brought me^ 

Well, nearer to death than I care to be brought. 

Then me second wind came, I called for me cue. 

But the prompter had skipped with me cue and 

watch, too. 
Yes ; manager, scene-shifters, dizzy actors, all gone, 
And left me to play out Jack Cade all alone. 
Yet me soul was resolved that me genius should 

win. 
So grandly I in monologue again did begin. 
When — whizz — biff — bang — a twenty-pound cab- 
bage 
Found its way to me head. 
And all me ambition immediately fled. 
That's why I am here in this No Man's Land, 

So far from the marts of trade, 
And here I'll abide, for I understand 

Me return to the stage would occasion a raid. 
Thank Heaven, I still live. Alack, me poor poll 
Thou hast brought naught but shame to me ambi- 
tious soul. 
Great crout ! when that huge cabbage fell, 

Methought 'twere a summons to Heaven or to . 

No more will the hair on me dizzy skull grow, 
'Twas cabbaged for good — well, well, heigho ! 
No more on the stage as a target I'll stand. 
Henceforth I'll scratch gravel in No Man's Land. 
Perhaps as a farmer kind nature may find 



ALL SORTS 167 

Some chance for the genius which cankers me 

mind. 
So farewell to tragedy, welcome, thrice welcome the 

plow; 
Come farm fruit, come hen fruit, I'll cabbage you 

now ; 
Yet Vd let a wilderness of monkeys all my farm 

prospects ravage, 
Just to meet the propeller of that twenty-pound 

cabbage. Ed. L. McDowell. 



ALL SORTS. 

Unpublished Poems of Susan B. Anthony. 



I 



REMEMBER 
Meeting you 
In September, 

Twenty-two. 
We were eating, 

Both of us ; 
And the meeting 

Happened thus : 
Accidental 

On the road 
(Sentimental 

Episode). 
I was gushing, 

You were shy ; 
You were blushing — 

So was I ; 



168 ALL SORTS 

I was smitten, 

So were you 
(All that's written 

Here is true) ; 
Any money? 

Not a bit. 
Rather funny, 

Wasn't it? 
Vows we plighted— 

Happy pair ! 
How delighted 

People were ! 
But your father — 

To be sure — 
Thought it rather 

Premature. 
And your mother- 
Strange to say — 
Was another 

In the way. 
What a heaven 

Vanished then 
(You were seven, 

I was ten) ! 
That was many 

Years ago — 
Don't let any 

Body know. 



ABOUT OUR FOLKS 169 

ABOUT OUR FOLKS. 



OUR name is Perkins. I alius thought that was a 
nice name, and I think so yet — 'deed I do. Sal 
never liked that name, but then Sal may git a 
chance to change some o' these days. There wus 
six of us altogether, countin' the bosses, or wot sum 
folks call '' the old blocks." Dad sed I wusn't a 
chip off the old block 'cause I couldn't farm. Dad 
didn't like the way I dug 'taters. He sed wen I got 
throo' with a 'tater patch, they wus all ready for the 
pot, 'cause I hed a way uf peelin' 'em and slicin' 'em 
all up with the spade. So wen I wus fourteen year 
old, that was two year ago — to-day is my birthday — 
I'm big fur my size — they sent me to the city to live 
with Uncle Bob and Aunt Maria. Uncle Bob and 
Aunt Maria say I'd better stayed to hum in the 
country, 'cause I talk jest like a farmer, and I eat 
too much. I'm pretty good on the eat. I'm jest 
like a big holler punkin all the time. 

Wall, as I sed afore, there wus six of us. We 
lived up here in Orange County right near the Jersey 
State line, in a place called Jackey Holler. Our 
farm wus about two rod from the old turnpike, and 
Widder Jenkins lived right over the way by the big 
willers. As I sed afore, there wus six of us all told, 
not countin' the critters. I sed six. Let's see — 
almost forgot in two year. You know your mem'ry 
don't get good till you git to be about eighteen. 
Anyhow that's wat Sal sed, and I bet on Sal every 



170 ABOUT OUR FOLKS 

time — 'deed I do. Let's see — there wus six of us. 
Fust cum Dad Perkins. Now Dad wus kinder 
queer. Why at the table to hum Dad used ter dip 
inter everything within reach —apple sass and pre- 
sarves, pie and pickles all ter once. Eat his puddin' 
aforehand, and then wunt ter knoAV wot we wus goin' 
to hev for finishin' up — for desert. But how Dad 
could talk. Why he never got tired talkin', and wen 
he wusn't talkin', he'd sing. Hardly ever got the 
right tune, but that didn't make much difF'rence 
with Dad ; but he wus down to town, Dad wus, one 
winter arter we hed done our huskin' and thrashin', 
and he heerd them darks sing — them ere Jubilee 
singers — and one song must a jest struck his tunin'- 
fork — 'cause he got the tune — 'deed he did, and we 
used to hev that tune daj^in and day out for months. 
I got so used to it thet I could sing it myself. Let's 
see — maybe I can sing it now : 

" Swing low, sweet chariot, 

Comin' for to carry me home ; 
Swing low, sweet chariot, 

Comin' for to carry me home." 

Dad wus a specimen — 'deed he wus. But I'm 
talkin' too much about Dad. Next cum Mam. Mam 
didn't sing much, but we used to ketch her hummin' 
in the closet round the dishes wen she didn't know 
we wus listenin'. But how she could milk and cook 
and bake — 'deed she could. Her pies w^us 'bout a 
foot thick, I reckon —she got the prize at the county 
fair once. 

Let's see— there wus six of us. Next cum Josh. 



ABOUT OUR FOLKS 171 

Josh was the oldest. Josh didn't hev very much to 
say. Not too much to say, but I guess he thought 
quite much. At the table he jest sot and eat and 
didn't say much — -jest helped himself, and he wusn't 
the fust one throo' neither. Josh could get away 
with three good square meals a day — 'deed he could 
— besides all the apples and sech things thrown in 
'tween meals. Josh was always pooty sweet on the 
gals, and we could alwa3''s tell wen he wus a-goin' 
out sparkin', 'cause he'd shave up clean, and put on 
his store clothes, and in warm weather his low-neck 
shoes and boughten stockin's, with stripes in, and 
stand-up collar, and wen he'd come hum with his 
hair mussed and ruther flurried like, he'd try to pass 
it off by sayin' thet Squire Runsby's bull hed been 
givin' him a chase cross lots. Josh wus alius settin' 
down where he hadn't oughter, never lookin' where 
he wus agoin'. Two or three times he sot right down 
on a dish of eggs, and one night, wen Sal gin a taffy 
pull, and Josh wus a-gittin' a little sweet on Mirandy 
Jones, he settled right down in a dish uf boilin' hot 
taffy she hed jest took down off the stove. Talk 
about bein' active and lively ! Why Josh bounced 
up like he'd been shot from a cannon, and the taffy 
a-hangin' on fur dear life. I thought the folks would 
break sumthin' a-laffin', and Josh hed ter be ex- 
cused fur the night to cool off. But even that didn't 
cure him and make him look where he wus a-goin'. 
You know he wus a little gone on Mirandy Jones— 
I think one reason bein' 'cause she built such good 
do'nuts, and Josh jest reveled in do'nuts. So goin' 



172 ABOUT OUR FOLKS 

to the mill one day, Josh dropped in ter hev a chat 
with Mirandy, to ask her how the folks wus, &c., 
&c. Well, Mirandy wus a-workin' on a batch of her 
do'nuts, and hed 'em all ready ter drop inter the hot 
bilin' grease which wus a-settin' on a stove near the 
table, kivered over with a towel, all ready to go right 
back on the stove ag'in with the do'nuts, you know — 
when Josh cum stroUin' in and sed : " Mornin', 
Miry. Thought I'de cum in while the grain wus 
grindin', and watch yer fuss round a little — and bein' 
yer don't invite me to make myself to hum, guess 
I'll take a seat near yer here." An' afore Mirandy 
could stop him, he slid down right inter that bilin' 
hot grease. Well — the folks sed 'twus wuth a quar- 
ter to hear Mirandy tell about how the sudden 
change cum over Josh. You know Mirandy couldn't 
keep nothin' like that to herself, and from her 
account Josh must hev made the best " go-as-you- 
please " time on record, the way he run around that 
kitchen, and Mirandy laffin' fit to kill all the time. 
Law, she couldn't help it. Well, Josh didn't stop 
till he got in the mill-pond — and he had to stand up 
in the wagon all the way hum. Uf course it's a 
standin' joke on Josh — but I don't believe Mirandy 
likes Josh eny the less fur all that. 

Well, after Josh cum Sal, and Sal wus jest nice — 
Sal wus — but Sal was afflicted — 'deed she wus. Sal 
hed corns — corns — no end to 'em. Sal had 'em bad 
— 'deed she did. I used to tell her I'd bring in the 
scythe and pare 'em off, and Dad sed ef they got 
much worse, he'd hev to hitch up the mowin' ma- 



ABOUT OUR FOLKS 173 

chine. But Sal managed to fix 'em up so she didn't 
limp much, and wore just as tight shoes as ever. I 
s'pose if anything will presarve corns, tight shoes 
will. But I always bet on Sal, corns or no corns. 

Wall, I cum next. I guess I won't say nothin' 
'bout myself, 'cause you'de say I wus tellin' fibs, but 
all the gals used to make a big fuss over me, all the 
time sayin' they wished they had such nice dimple^ 
in their cheeks, like mine. 

The last of us wus Hez. Hez wus the baby, but 
he wus full uf the old feller himself. The best way 
to describe Hez is to say he wus Sal's little brother, 
and you gals here jest know what little brothers is. 
Anyhow they always hang round the parlor wen 
fellers come, don't they? Sometimes wen Sal hed 
company, Hez used to crawl in under the sofa, and 
then jest as they wus havin' a good time, talkin' 
sweet, and settin' up close to one 'nother, Hez would . 
cetch hold Sal's foot, and strike one o' them corns ; 
and how she would jump and git mad and try to put 
Hez out. Then Hez would flare up and holler : 
" You think you're smart, don't yer ; puttin' on airs 
and makin' b'lieve yer think a heap of Bill Jones 
here, wen yer let ev'ry feller in the place kiss yer — 
don't yer? Yes, sir!!" And there they'de go on 
at each other till Dad heard the racket, and Hez hed 
to go to bed. 

Now there's one more thin,g: I want to tell yer 
'bout Dad, and then as our dominie used to say 'bout 
one o'clock, " I shall hev to come to a stop." Now, 
Josh and me and Dad one day hed jest got thro' dig- 



174 ABOUT OUR FOLKS 

gin' taters, and wus takin' the last load of 'em to the 
barn. Josh wus a-drivin' old Dexter and our young 
colt, with the colt on the nigh side. I wus squatted 
on top right on the taters, and Dad wus a settin' on 
the bottom boards that run out further than the back- 
board. Well, we wus a-gittin' pretty well nigh on to 
the fence, and I wus 'jest goin' to git off to let down 
the bars, when all uf a sudden — Josh must a' been 
a-thinkin' 'bout his dinner and furgot himself — fur 
all uf a sudden we struck a big rock wot wus there, 
and we cum to a full stop. Josh he pitched for'ard 
and then back, and landed in 'mongst the taters with 
his hed in the basket. I hed to laugh, for jest then 
I wus holdin' on down to the side-board for to keep 
myself in. But where do you think Dad wus ? I 
thought I'd die ! You know there wus a big hook 
right in under where Dad wus a-settin', that we used 
ter sumtimes hang the big baskets on. Well, when 
we brought up. Dad kinder bunked agin the back- 
board and then slid oif. This ere hook wus jest in 
persition and hooked Dad's pantaloons jest by the 
buckle and held him there, and he hung there kinder 
whirlin' round, back and to, like a compass. Me 
and Josh couldn't do nothin' but jest yell. I never 
laffed so much in all my born days, and Dad hangin' 
there, red in the face, a-hollerin' to us fur to take 
him down. Well, we hed to lift him up bodily, and 
laughin' all the wile fit to break our sides, and Dad 
a-growlin', and put him on his feet onct more. Dad 
walked the rest uf the way, and kept talkin' about 
his pantaloons, and there bein' no more pieces uf the 



THE GIGGLETY GIRL 175 

same color to patch ' em up with. Mam hed to laf 
a little, and then Dad got mad, and after that we hed 
to keep mum, when he was round, about that 'tater 
ride. Dad didn't seem to see where the laugh cum in. 

Henry Firth Wood. 



THE GIGGLETY GIRL. 



0' 



^H ! the gigglety girl- 
Gee w^hiz ! 
From her toe to her curl 
What a bother she is ! 
For whatever you do and whatever you say. 
She is laughing away through the whole of the day, 
And sometimes her noisy, unwearying zeal 
Will make a man feel 

So all-fired 
Excessively tired 
That far into space he'd be willing to hurl 
The gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. 

Oh ! the gigglety girl — 

Great Scott ! 
What a scurry and whirl 

She can bring to the spot ! 
And yet, when her light-hearted freedom from care 
Kind of gets in the air — well, you can't be a bear — 
And you feel that your blood wouldn't stand it to see 
A man who could be 

So downright 
Ill-bred as to slight 
Or in any way hurt, with the mood of a churl, 
This gigglety, gigglety, gigglety girl. Judge. 



176 TUCKED OUP IN PED 

TUCKED OUP IN PED. 



DER schiltren dhey was poot in ped, 
All tucked oup for der night ; 
I dakes my pipe der mantel off, 

Und py der fireside priglit 
I dinks aboudt vhen I vas young — 

Off moder, who vas tead, 
Und how at nighdt — like I do Hans — 
She tucked me oup in ped. 

I mindt me off my fader, too, 

Und how he yoost to say, 
" Poor poy, you haf a hardt oldt row 

To hoe, und leedle play !" 
I find me oudt dot id vas drue 

Vot mine oldt fader said, 
Vhile smoodhing down mine flaxen hair, 

Und tucking me in ped. 

Der oldt folks ! Id vas like a dhream 

To speak off* dhem like dot. 
Gretchen und I vas " oldt folks " now, 

Und haf two schiltren got. 
Ve loves dem more as nefer vas, 

Each little curly head, 
Und efry nighdt ve dakes dhem oup 

Und tucks dem in dheir ped. 

Budt dhen sometimes vhen I feels plue, 
Und all dings lonesome seem, 



JUSTICE IN A QUANDARY 

I vish I vas dot poy again, 
Und dis vas all a dhream. 

I vant to kiss mine inoder vonce, 
Und vhen mine brayer vas said, 

To haf mine fader dake me oiip 
Und tuck me in mine ped. 



177 



JUSTICE IN A QUANDARY. 

How the changes on ** slang " puzzled the Jefferson Market Magistrate. 



THE envoy that come from Patsy Burns' yesterday 
to get a warrant for its proprietor was hoarse, 
squat, and bull-necked. He leaned across the bar of 
the court, and whispered confidently : 

" Say, Jedge, Patsy P>urns w^ants to shut down on 
a kid that's bin skinnin' him." 

"A kid! Skinning him? Impossible," said his 
Honor. " Where is the animal ?" 

" He's a young rooster what dishes out the stuff in 
Patsy's drum." 

His Honor looked perplexed. " Oh ! it's poultry 
you're complaining about. I thought you said it 
was a kid just now. Well, what of the rooster?" 

" Say, Jedge, don't you play me. I'm giving it 
to you straight ; honor bright. Patsy feels dead sore 
over the thing, and wants the young terrier hauled 
up before you." 

" Look here, my friend, if you come here to com- 
plain about a whole menagerie, say so; but this 
12 



178 JUSTICE IN A QUANDARY 

parade of flesh and fowl is distracting. Let us 
understand each other — kid, rooster, or dog — Is 
Patsy's trouble with one or all ?" 

" Jedge, this looks like a dead open and shut. 
You don't seem to tumble to me at all. Here's the 
scheme. There's a jigger behind Patsy's counter 
that's crooked, and he wants him taken in, see ?" 

^' Oh ! Patsy has a saloon. It is the person who 
dispenses the beverages he has trouble with." 

" That's the racket, Jedge. You've got it dead to 
rights. You see. Patsy sets this bloke in his shebang 
a sending along the old stuff, and everything goes 
hunkeedoree tills he sees his nibs sporting a super, 
and togged out to the queen's taste. Well, Patsy's 
pooty fly, he is, and he dropped to the' caper — so he 
spotted the felleh, and to-day he catched him work- 
ing the damper." 

"Working the damper?" 

" Yes ; collaring the boodle." 

" Collaring the — my friend, for goodness sake, be 
explicit. What do you mean ?" 

" Hang it, Jedge, it's clear enough — he was tapping 
the till." 

" Tapping the till ? Ah, I see, he was appropri- 
ating the receipts to his own use in the proprietor's 
absence." 

" That's the talk — appropriatin' the receipts is the 
go. You've got it down fine, Jedge. That's what 
the codger did — appropriated Patsy Burns' receipts. 
So Patsy sent me round to see as if you wouldn't 
give him the collar, and make him produce. He's 



HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES 179 

a bad lot, he is and you ought to give him a 
stretch." 

" What ? Would you be so barbarous as to have 
me hang the man ?" 

'^ Who's talkin' of hangin'? What I said is he 
ought to get a nip." 

"Get a nip?" 

" Yes, go up the river." 

" I see, I see. Go to Sing Sing. My friend, we 
will try to accommodate you. But this conversation 
is trying to a man of my constitution. Go to Patsy 
Burns, I beg you. Tell him to bring his grievance 
here in person, and let him bring a little of the ver- 
nacular along." 

" Maybe you're right, Jedge, an' maybe you aint, 
but it does seem rough on a citizen and taxpayer if 
he can't get justice unless he's swallowed a lone dic- 
tionary, and crammed down jawbreakers fit to bust 
him. So long." 



HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES. 



S.OMETHIN' cur'ous in his air, 
Sheepy look about his eyes ; 
Gone and pompadoured his hair, 

Got on one of dad's best ties. 
Wonder if he's goin' to town ? 

Prinked enough, the goodness knows I 
Somethin's brewin', I'll be bound — 
John's got on his Sunday clo'es. 



180 HIS SUNDAY CLOTHES 

Washed his hands with extry care, 

Shaved himself from ears to throat, 
Curled his mustache, I declare ! 

Pinned a rosebud on his coat. 
Face shines like the harvest moon, 

Puttin' powder on his nose. 
Somethin's boun' to happen soon — 

John's got on his Sunday clo'es. 

Usual clo'es a suit of jean, 

Hat a broad-brimmed wideawake. 
Biggest boots was ever seen, 

Hands worn hard by hoe and rake ; 
Now his shoes are shinin' black, 

Small an' narrer at the toes, 
An' on Wednesday, cur'ous fac' ! 

John got on his Sunday clo'es. 

Pretty girl at Turtle Brook, 

Daughter of Selectman Smith, 
With a mild, angelic look 

Fit to enter Heaven with. 
Yellow hair and hazel eye. 

Cheeks as red as any rose — 
Guess she knows the reason why 

John's got on his Sunday clo'es. 



THIRTY YEAS8 WITH A aHREW 181 



THIRTY YEARS WITH A SHREW. 

ST. PETER stood guard at the golden gate 
With a solemn mien and an air sedate, 
When up at the top of the golden stair 
A man and woman, ascending there, 
Applied for admission. They came and stoo<i 
Before St Peter, so great and good, 
In hope the City of Peace to win, 
And asked St Peter to let them in. 

The woman was tall and lank and thin^ 
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin ; 
The man was short and thick and stout, 
His stomack was built so it rounded out ; 
His face was pleasant, and all the while 
He wore a kindly and genial smile; 
The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke, 
And the man kept still while the woman spokeu 

* O, thou who guardest the gate," said she, 
•* We come up hither, beseeching thee 
To let us enter the heavenly land. 
And play our harps with the heavenly band. 
Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt, 
There's nothing from Heaven to bar me out ; 
IVe been to meeting three times a week. 
And almost always I'd rise and speak. 

^ IVe told the sinners about the day 
When they'd repent of their evil way ; 



182 THIRTY YEARS WITH A 8HREW 

IVe told my neighbors — I've told them all 
*Bout Adam and Eve and the primal fidL 
IVe shown them what they'd have to do 
If they'd pass in with the chosen few, 
I've marked their path of duty clear, 
Laid out the plan of their whole career. 

" I've talked and talked to them loud and k>ng, 
For my lungs are good and my voice is strong* 
So good St. Peter, you'll clearly see 
The gate of Heaven is open for me ; 
But my old man, I regret to say, 
Hasn't walked exactly the narrow way. 
He smokes and chews and grave faults he's got^ 
And I don't know whether he'll pass or not, 

" He never would pray with an earnest vim, 
Or go to revival or join in a hynm ; 
So I had to leave him in sorrow there 
While I in my purity said my prayer, 
He ate what the pantry chose to afford, 
While I sang at church in sweet accord ; 
And if cucumbers were all he got, 
It's a chance if he merited them or not 

-But O, St Peter, I love him so, 
To the pleasures of Heaven please let him go 
I've done enough — a saint I've been. 
Won't that atone ? Can't you let him in ? 
But in my grim gospel I know 'tis so, 
That the unrepentant must fry below: 



fHIRTY YEAM WITH A SHREW 181 

But isn't there some way you can see 
That he may enter, who's dear to me? 

* It's a narrow gospel by which I pray, 
But the chosen expect to find the way 
Of coaxing or fooling or bribing you 
So that their relations can amble through. 
And say, St Peter, it seems to me 
This gate isn't kept as it ought to be. 
You ought to stand right by the opening there, 
And never sit down in that eaay chair. 

** And say, St Peter, my sight is dimmed, 
But I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed; 
They're cut too wide and outward toss ; 
They'd look better narrow, cut straight across. 
Well, we must be going, our crowns to win, 
So open, St Peter, and we'll pass in." 
♦ ♦**♦♦ 

St Peter sat quiet, he stroked his staff, 
But spite of his office he had to laugh ; 
Then he said, with a fiery gleam in his eye, 

•* Who's tending this gate, you or I ?" 
And then he rose in his stature tall, 
And pressed the button upon the wall, 
And said to the imp who answered the bell,- 

* Escort this lacfy around to — Hades." 

The man stood still as a piece of stone- 
Stood sadly, gloomily there alone ; 
A lifelong settled idea he had, 
That his wife was good and he was bad; 



184 THIRTY YEARS WITH A 8HRSW 

He thought if the woman went down below, 
That he would certainly have to go • 
That if she went to the regions dim 
There wasn't a ghost of a chance for hhn. 

Slowly he turned, by habit beit, 
To follow wherever the woman went 
St. Peter standing on duty there 
Observed that the top of his head was bare. 
He called the gentleman back and said 

" Friend, how long have you been wed ?" 

« Thirty years " (with a weary sigh), 
And then he thoughtfully added, " Why ?" 

St Peter was silent With eye cast down. 
He raised his head and scratched his crown • 
Then seeming a different thought to take. 
Slowly, half to himself, he spake : 
"Thirty years with that woman there? 
No wonder the man hasn't any hair ; 
Chewing is nasty ; smoke's not good ; 
He smoked and chewed ; I should think he would 

" Thirty years with a tongue so sharp ? 
Ho ! Angel Gabriel, give him a harp ; 
A jeweled harp with a golden striftg ; 
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing ; 
Gabriel, give him a seat alone — 
One with a cushion — up near the throne ; 
Call up some angels to play their best • 
Let him enjoy the music and rest I 



paddy's reflections on cleopathera's needle 186 

See that on the finest ambrosia he feeds ; 
He's had about all the Hades he ne^. 
It isn't just hardly the thing to do, 
To roast hun on eartli and the future, too." 
****** 
They gave him a harp with golden strings, 
A glittering robe and a pair of wings ; 
And he said as he entered the realms of day^ 
" Well, this beats cucumbers any way." 
And so the Scriptures had come to i>ass, 
That " The last shall be firet, and the first shaB ba 
last" 

Brooklyn Eagle. 



PADDY'S REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATHERA'S 
NEEDLE. 

O O that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad, 
^ An' a quare lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound ; 
What a powerful muscle the queen must have had 
That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around I 

Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad 

With a needle like that in her hand ! I declare 

It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad, 
It would paas for a round tower, only its square 1 

The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of granite } 
Begorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite dumb I 

And look at the quare sort of figures upon it ; 

I wondher can these be the thracks of her thimib ? 



186 paddy's reflections on CLEOPATHERaV^ NEEDLl 

I once was astonished to hear of the faste 
Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now 

I declare, I would riot be surprised in the laste 
If ye told nie the woman had swiillowed a cowl 

It's easy to see why bould Ca^ar should quail 
In her presence an' meekly submit to her rule; 

Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail 

She could frighten the soul out of big Finn MacCooH 

But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now, 
Compared with the monsthers they must have 
been then ! 

Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row, 
Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men. 

Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start 
If his girl was to {)riKl him with that in the shins I 

I have often seen needles, but bouldly assart 

That the needle in front of me there takes the pins/ 

O sweet Cleopathera ! I'm sorry you're dead ; 

An' whin lavin' this wonderful needle behind, 
Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread 

And yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been 
kind. 

But pace to your ashes, ye plague o' great men, 
Yer strenth is de[)arted, yer glory is past ; 

Veil never wield sceptre nor needle again, 
And a poor little asp did yer bizness at last 

CORMAC O'LkARY, 



WHO SAXTY CLAUS WUZ 187 



WHO SANTY CLAUS WUZ. 

From Rhymes of Childhood. Permission of the Boweu-Merrill Company, 
Publishers. 



JES' a little bit o' feller — I remember still — 
Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster 
will. 
Fourth o' July's nothin' to it ! — New Year's aint a 

smell ; 
Easter Sunday — Circus-day — jes' all dead in the shell ! 
Lordy, though ! at night, you know, to set around 

and hear 
The old folks work the story oft' about the sledge and 

deer, 
And '' Santy " skootin' round the roof, all wrapped 
in fur and fuzz 
Long afore 

I knowed who 

" Santy Claus " wuz ! 

Ust ter wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead ; 
Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed ; 
Kittle stewin' on the fire, and mother settin'here 
Darnin' socks, and rockin'in the skreeky rockin'-cheer ; 
Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went, 
And quar'l with his frosty heels, and spill his liniment ; 
And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud 
whir and buzz 
Long afore 

I knowed who 

" Santv Claus " wuz ! 



188 WHO SANTY GLAUS WUZ 

Size the fireplace up, and figure how ^^ Old Santy " 

could 
Manage to come down the chimney, like they said 

he would ; 
Wisht that I could hide and see him — wundered 

what he'd say 
Ef he ketched a feller layin' fer him thataway ! 
But I bet on him, and liked him, same as if he had 
Turned to pat me on the back and say, " Look here, 

my lad, 
Here's my pack, jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys 

does !" 
Long afore 

I knowed who 

" Santy Glaus " wuz ! 

Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to 

be— 
Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough 

fer me ! — 
Wisht I still wus so confidin' I could jes' go wild 
Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child 
Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell 
'Bout them reindeers and " Old Santy " that she loves 

so well ; 
I'm half sorry fer this little-girl sweetheart of his — 
Long afore 

She knows who 

" Santy Glaus " is ! 
James Whitcomb Riley. 



ENCOURAGING SELF-MURDER 189 

ENCOURAGING SELF-MURDER. 



" T HAVE determined to die," he said, as he en- 
X tered the drug-store, and brought his fist down 
on the counter with force enough to make the candy- 
bottles dance. '' I have resolved to make away with 
myself. Apothecary, mix me a powerful potion, 
which will finish my earthly career. Give nie some- 
thing against which antidotes are of no avail, and 
which the stomach-pump is powerless to withdraw. 
Do you understand ?" 

'^ Yes, sir,'' replied the druggist, as he took dowm a 
bottle containing some whitish powder. " This is 
the strongest poison known. I'll give you ten grains 
of it, which will be quite enough for your purpose." 

The druggist proceeded to weigh the powder and 
wrap it up, saying as he did so : 

" I would advise you to take this poAvder to your 
room, first being careful to make your will, and do 
such other matters as you deem necessary, for after 
you have swallowed the potion you will not be able 
to do anything before it begins to take effect. Imme- 
diately on swallowing it, first dissolving the contents of 
the paper in a spoonful of water, you will feel a sort of 
cold chill run up your spine. Then your arms will 
begin to shake, and your knees will knock together. 
Presently you will be unable to stand, and you will 
sink into a chair. Your eyes will then pain you. 
Sharp twinges will run through the eyeballs, and in 
about half a minute total blindness will follow. 



190 ENCOURAGI^iG SELF-MURDER 

Presently gripes will seize the stomach, and you will 
bend forward in agony. Racking headaches will be 
added to your other sensations, followed by intense 
pains in the ears, like ordinary earache intensified a 
thousand times. Twinges like those of gout seize 
the extremities, the chills of the spinal cord become 
unbearable, the tongue protrudes, and the patient 
falls from the chair on his face, and unconsciousness 
follows, which last a few minutes, until death super- 
venes. Twenty-five cents, please." 

The package was ready, but the customer did not 
take it. 



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